


One More

by Kono_Rohan_Da



Series: Captain Squad [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, CAPTAIN SQUAD, Canon Compliant, Character Analysis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Sawamura Daichi, Pining, Plot Twists, Poor Ushijima Wakatoshi, Post-Canon, Protective Sawamura Daichi, Slightly - Freeform, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ushijima Cares For His Friends, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kono_Rohan_Da/pseuds/Kono_Rohan_Da
Summary: Ushijima thought he had his first year of university planned out: don’t mess up his friendship with the other former captains who happen to be his hall mates, keep his position as a starter to increase his chances of being on a good pro team, keep his grades up, text his old teammates at least once a week, practice, study. So it’s strange when he realizes halfway through the term that he somehow managed to fit falling in love into his schedule.If only he could get the words out of his mouth before he lets the unreachable get away forever.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou & Oikawa Tooru & Sawamura Daichi & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Michimiya Yui/Sawamura Daichi, Sawamura Daichi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori & Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Captain Squad [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918720
Comments: 83
Kudos: 195





	1. Respect

**Author's Note:**

> USHIDAI! LET'S GO! I tried writing out quite a few chapters ahead of time so I just have to write the second half of the fic, edit chapters before I post, so this fic will probably be better quality than my others. Talk to me on my tumblr (kono-rohan-da) about Ushidai or Daichi in general :D

Five weeks. thirty-nine days. A little over a month into university and one former captain and ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi, found himself questioning how exactly his life ended up like this. And it’s not really an uncommon thought, he realizes, blearily looking up from his dorm bed to stare at his door which rattles from the force whoever on the other side is using to knock, the doorknob rattling. 

He just wanted to relax and ponder over his thoughts. He’d just returned from his calculus class five minutes ago, used the spare time because the professor had given the class to productively finish the assignment and clarify some of the problems’ finer points with the professor while the other students unproductively filled the room with distracting chatter.

The reason for why he’s in university isn’t really concrete. After he had accepted his scholarship, mentally claiming it was so that he could expand his volleyball skills before trying for a professional or the national team, but there is still something in his mind telling him that there was something else that just made him want to go to university. And even though he’s focusing on volleyball it doesn’t mean he won’t try with his education. 

Now, for the door. The knocking is getting bothersome. Ushijima gets up and he feels pleased inside when the person on the other side of the door starts their shouting again. 

Tokyo is very different from Miyagi. None of the third years from the Shiratorizawa Academy volleyball club chose to go to university outside of the prefecture. Satori had helped him move, though, going as far as borrowing his mother’s car to drive the two of them down to Tokyo. He had admitted that he thought he would be lonely, so Satori made him promise to text and call and Skype, which he does. But the real surprise came in the form of where his dorm was. Building 3, Floor 2. The building was rather small, with only one hall per floor: Five rooms, once person per room, just big enough to sleep, study, and have some walking and storage space. And halfway down the hall or so, there is a large area. It has a washing machine, dryer, a sizeable kitchen, and a sitting area with a TV and a computer, that area only being able to be entered by who he had then assumed was him and his hallmates. There was also a communal bathroom for the hall and the ground floor has a decent bath. 

But his hallmates. Hallmates who happened to also play volleyball. And be captains. All four of them, which he had learned upon stepping out of the elevator with Satori behind him only to come face to face with one Oikawa Tooru who promptly screamed in his face, leading to the other three doors opening and then a round of introductions. 

Now he’s happy to say that he’s at least acquainted with them. And whoever insists they aren’t acquainted insists that they’re friends and all of that in a miraculous span of a mere thirty-nine days. To him, it isn’t that much time. In reality, a lot of things can happen in thirty-nine days, things even he’s not aware of. But one of the things he knows is that he’s found people he can trust in his hallmates.

He opens the door and, as expected, he’s met with an overly hyperactive Bokuto Koutarou, one of his four hallmates. The man looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin, volleyball duffle slung over his shoulder. 

“Wakatoshi!” Bokuto exclaims. “Finally! You’re up!” He quickly looks Ushijima up and down and shrugs. “That works. Quick- grab your bag! We’re going! Kuroo and Oikawa are already on their way!” Hallmates two and three. Bokuto’s voice gradually shifts to a whine and Ushijima smiles internally. 

“I tried to stop him” a second voice says, resigned “But Kuroo and Oikawa ran before I could even open my mouth.” And there’s his fourth hallmate. Sawamura Daichi. 

At first, he wasn’t sure what to feel of Sawamura. He hadn’t stood out too much at first during the prefecture finals. It had stuck to him, after their loss:  _ how did someplace like Karasuno beat Shiratorizawa _ ? So he had rewatched the match. Again and again, narrowing his eyes, picking apart what they could of done, what Karasuno had done. Deciding if some things had been flukes or were actually a product of skill. 

No, he hadn’t been angry. More frustrated and confused. Shiratorizawa should of won- it’s not an opinion, but a fact. Their number ten didn’t really have any skill or precision, nothing notable about him besides his height, over exuberant personality, and baseless courage. Their ace was powerful and certainly skilled, but he didn’t stand out as much as an ace should and was completely different off the court. And then he had found the pattern. Had seen how they tried to trick his own team, how they had tricked him to spike at their libero until he quickly learned to receive his hits. And at the end of his marathon, no less than a day after their loss, he finally realized something, a missing gear to his mental equation to solve how Karasuno won:

He never focused on their number one, their captain. Sawamura. 

So he went back and traced the teen’s movement. All he remembered about his counterpart had been that he mostly played defense. Now that he knows who to watch, he can see things he never saw before. Sawamura filled in so many gaps in the defense. His serves weren’t the best but they were good and efficient, well aimed. He observed all of his players, predicting what move they would make before moving to reinforce it. 

Shiratorizawa were the flowers that blossomed from fertile soil. They had the support of their peers and coaches which nurtured them and coaxed them to survive. A great number of deserving victories urging them to grow and improve, to become stronger. But then Karasuno came. An invasive species that shouldn't of been able to survive, much less flourish in this environment. They grew quickly, durable. Small and fighting for control of the land, of the nutrients. They worked together, the progress of one benefitting all of them. Weeds amongst flowers. And then there’s Sawamura, like a hidden water reservoir only accessible by those weeds. Hidden, but there. Vital for their survival. Those weeds most likely would of died without it being there. 

Ushijima thinks of Oikawa, how he would of flourished if he came to Shiratorizawa. His natural strength would of blossomed like an Epiphyllum oxypetalum in a world where the sun never rises. One of the things Ushijima finally found himself realizing was that even though individual strength did matter, which was Shiratorizawa’s requirement for each player: to be strong, there was also a bigger picture. It was how the team powered each other and not just themselves that made them strong.

He had been confused as to why Oikawa chose Aoba Johsai. Their team was weak er than Shiratorizawa, their individual strength pitiful. But then he looked at Karasuno, over and over and over again until it finally clicked into his brain, so similar to what Oikawa had told him the few times he told him why he'd never go to Shiratorizawa. Because it didn't matter what the individual strength was. A garden isn’t considered amazing if all of the flowers are the same. It is the uniqueness of every sprout in it that makes unique. 

At Aoba Johsai, the team had been able to work together, complimenting each others preferred technique rather than rely on only Oikawa to lead them to victory. At Karasuno, the players worked together like the works of a machine. Karasuno shouldn’t of been able to hold together. But it did. And twelve days into university, twelve nights of near obsessive thinking, he realized who made Karausno hold together right before he fell asleep, only to wake up earl for a morning run before practice and continue his string of thought.

He has respect for Sawamura Daichi, the thread that held his team together, the cement that kept the water from breaking free from the dam, the conductor of a symphony of instruments that shouldn’t even be in the same room but still managed to make it sound beautiful. 

Respect is a fickle thing. He doesn’t give the feeling out needlessly. Anything he things about someone must be deserved. And once it’s there, it becomes a fact. Because if there’s one thing Ushijima strays from, it is opinions. 

So Ushijima believes Sawamura when he says that he tried to stop Bokuto. Sawamura is truly like the dad he’s heard Kuroo and Oikawa tease him to be, although he wouldn’t say that outloud. At times it seems as if Sawamura dislikes being teased with names such as “Dad-chi” but at other times, he seems rather amused. And then there’s his scary mode which even sends shivers down Ushijima’s spine. 

“Very well” Ushijima says. “I finished my assignments ahead of time. Smaller group practices are more beneficial to the growth of individual skill rather than if we were to practice with the entirety of the team.” Bokuto lets out a whoop and races down the hall. Ushijima turns his back to the doorway, now alone. 

“I was wondering what you were doing during the free-time” Sawamura muses. Oh, so he’s still here as well. “I thought I was the only one to actually make use of the time.” Ushijima hums, sitting at his desk’s chair so he can but on his sneakers. He had put them in the wash yesterday so they’re nearly as clean as the volleyball shoes which lay in his bag. Ushijima had nearly forgotten that Sawamura was in his calculus class. He sat across the room, closer to the door. Just like Ushijima, he was the only third year from his team who left the prefecture. 

In class, Ushijima is quiet. He seldom speaks, not because he doesn’t want to talk to those around him but because he’s awkward in nature. He doesn’t know how to start a conversation or carry one beyond a few sentences. He knows his classmates find him intimidating and cold- he’s heard the same things at Shiratorizawa. Sawamura, on the other hand, seems to be popular. He’s nice and it’s a fact that he’s nice looking. Being on the team has helped him keep fit and Sawamura is often one of the first people in class and the people who sit around him would switch every day, as if they were vying for his attention. He would see girls giggle at him in the hallways, approach him to converse, and Sawamura would be nothing less than polite with them, certain comments causing him to blush or rub the back of his neck. 

Sawamura seems to have some sort of natural charm. Ushijima doesn’t feel uncomfortable speaking with him even though they are only acquainted- rather, their conversations are usually rather interesting and enlightening. It also helps that Sawamura understands Ushijima’s silence, not taking it as a sign of not being interested such as most people but recognizing it as Ushijima simply not wanting to speak, instead only wanting to listen and communicate only with the occasional hum or a raise of the eyebrow. 

“The topic seems to be something that will be coming back in future lessons. It was wise to choose to understand the concept better rather than waste the time engaging in pointless conversation.” 

Sawamura lets out a laugh and Ushijima finishes tying his shoelaces. Sawamura is comfortable with laughing at a comment. Ushijima finds it harder to find which comments are appropriate to laugh or chuckle at. Occasionally he would chuckle or smile at something, but only if it was clearly amusing, even to him.

“Agreed. Sometimes I wonder why girls want to know about where I go clothing shopping in the middle of a lecture. I almost missed some important tidbit once.” Ushijima slings his bag over his shoulder and stands, Sawamura moving to the side so Ushijima could exit and lock his door before the two make their way to the elevator. 

“Do you know what Bokuto wants the next hour before our scheduled practice to focus on?” Ushijima asks, pressing the button to call the elevator up. Daichi shrugs. 

“I don’t really want to do another two-on-two before practice. Our last one left me exhausted. Coach is brilliant for somehow getting you and Oikawa on the same team but for a two on two, you guys are just brutal.”

“Kuroo is more merciless. He holds nothing back when initiating one of his blocks. I do not think there has been anyone to block one of my spikes on the first try.”

“Do you remember our number eleven? He’s the blond one with the glasses.”

“Yes, he was rather bothersome but his block reading was impressive.”

“Yeah. Tsukishima. Kuroo likes to think of himself as his senpai. We had a training camp with some schools in Tokyo. Nekoma and Fukurodani were there. And he taught him different blocking techniques. You can probably thank Kuroo and Bokuto for Karasuno beating you guys at the prefecturals.” Ushijima feels his eyebrows raise less than a millimeter. This is a new piece of information. The two knew each other before university. They had seemed friendly during their nationals match. 

He had been suspicious at first because of how close Kuroo had seemed to Sawamura but then he realized that it was Kuroo’s nature to be like that, trying to be subtle about his want for affection. Truly like a cat his school had been named for. Ushijima himself is guilty of making himself give Kuroo a congratulatory pat on the shoulder or back after noticing this. And then he started allowing the man to sling an arm around his shoulder after seeing Sawamura comfortably allowing Kuroo to do so without any negative expressions crossing his face. Ushijima is socially awkward so it helps to watch how other people behave to model his own behavior after them. 

“But I was wondering if you could help teach me how to serve left-handed?” Sawamura asks when they reach the ground floor, elevator doors dinging open. Ushijima looks at him in surprise and he sees Sawamura’s nervous tick: rubbing the back of his neck. He’s not looking at Ushijima. They begin their walk. 

“I am curious: you are perfectly capable of serving with your dominant hand. Why would you want to hinder your progress by learning a serve with your non-dominant hand?” 

“Well, I have the same amount of power in both of my arms. And I’m comfortable using my left-arm because of defense.“ Sawamura opens the door, holding it open to allow the two of them to exit into the noisy world of Tokyo. “My serves aren’t anything special and just switching it to serving lefty will change things up and make it more difficult to receive because of sudden the switch is.” Then he hesitates. “And I don’t think I’m going to make it as a starter. With you four and our seniors, I’m going to have a lot of time on the bench to watch and learn.”

Ushijima ponders for a few moments. He wants to address that last part, since the tone Sawamura had used was factual, no doubt in his voice. It is worrisome. But he wouldn’t know how to go about it. “You could easily learn a jump-serve rather than serving lefty.”

“How about a lefty jump-serve?” Ushijima actually stops walking and he just looks at Daichi, the other looking up at him, meeting his eyes, a wide grin on his face and a light in his eyes. “It’d be fun for you and me both. And it’s also an excuse to get out of whatever ridiculous exercise Bokuto thinks up. 

“Well” Ushijima starts and Daichi’s eyes somehow grow larger, resembling a puppy’s. Except much more intelligent and human. His smile grows softer, warmer, and Ushijima finds something stir inside of him.  _ It’s not the first thing one would think up  _ Ushijima thinks  _ And serving with your non-dominant hand is unwise. And it would take a while to get comfortable with a simple serve and even more to learn how to properly execute a jump serve. But I  _ am  _ a lefty so it would be easier for me to teach him to serve like that rather than with his dominant hand. And it may increase his chances of becoming a starter, with a serve that elusive. And perhaps with sufficient practice he will be comfortable with spiking with his left hand as well. It will benefit the team to have a player who can serve and spike with both arms and with the same level of efficiency, and his defensive skills are incre-  _

“-jima you okay?” Ushijima blinks and a hand leaves his line of sights. Sawamura lets out a light chuckle. “You looked pretty out of it. Did you think something? I mean, it’s fine if you do-”

“It will be beneficial to the team.” Ushijima states, cutting Sawamura off. “Under one condition” Sawamura nods eagerly “You teach me how to spike right handed. I have no need to serve with my right hand but I can better evade blockers who have adapted to me spiking lefty only to have me use my right hand with just as much control.” Sawamura’s mouth opens but the words only come out a few seconds later. 

“Y-yeah! That sounds good, awesome, really! Who knew that you’d like playing around with the opponent?” Ushijima nods. Sawamura really must be happy for him to stutter. 

“There are things that living in the same hall as Kuroo Tetsurou does to you.” Ushijima continues walking, leaving Sawamura frozen behind him. 

“Wait, did you just make a joke?” Ushijima hides his smile. “ _ Ushijima! _ ” He has to purse his lips to keep the smile from growing even larger when he hears Sawamura jog to catch up to him.

* * *

**Chat Name: SHI-RA-TO-RI-ZAWA**

**[14:08]**

**Wakatoshi: I have become a teacher.**

**Satori: wait what?Goshiki,when did u go to uni!**

**Goshiki: IM NOT IN COLLEGE USHIJIMA-SAN WHO R U TEACHING!?**

**Eita: No offense, but I never thought you’d become a teacher**

**Eita: Is it volleyball at least?**

**Wakatoshi: Yes. Sawamura asked me to teach him to serving left handed.**

**Shirabu: I still can’t believe the two of you somehow became friends**

**Satori: r u jelly?the crow is pretty chill**

**Satori: proud of u wakakun.finally making ur move**

**Wakatoshi: ?**

**Wakatoshi: My move to improve? He did agree to teach me to spike righty.**

**Goshiki: USHIJIMA-SAN TEACH ME HOW TO SERVE LEFTY**

**Shirabu: Not if it takes you that long to type out one sentence.**

**Goshiki: : (**

**Wakatoshi: I will consider it when I come to visit. I will say how it went after practice is over.**

**Wakatoshi: Now I must go or else Oikawa will try to discretely serve a ball into my head.**

**Reon: What did I miss?**

**[19:02]**

**Wakatoshi: Practice went well. Sawamura is already partially adept with using his**

**left hand since it seems as if he is comfortably ambidextrous when it**

**comes to defense. I predict he will be able to execute a normal serve and**

**have it reach the net by the end of the week. My progress was much**

**slower, as I had no interest in learning to properly control my right arm in the past, but**

**Sawamura was very patient with me. He promised teaching him and**

**learning would be fun and it was indeed entertaining. I will be inactive for**

**approximately an hour.**

**[20:53]**

**Satori: waka its been more than an hour**

**Wakatoshi: Apologies. I was getting ready for dinner. To portray his thanks,**

**Sawamura cooked us dinner today. I aided him in the final process since**

**he made quite a lot to accommodate for his and Bokuto’s appetites. It is**

**unbelievable how much food the two are able to eat whilst not needing**

**to do extra physical activity to keep in shape.**

**Goshiki: OH FOOD WHAT DID HE MAKE**

**Eita: I have a guess.**

**Wakatoshi: Hayashi rice.**

**Satori: 0w0**

**Shirabu: That is quite the coincidence. . .**

**Wakatoshi: No, he said that he was making it because he remembers reading in an**

**interview that it is my favorite food. The action is quite considerate of**

**him. Shirabu, if you would give him the chance, he truly is a nice**

**person. He is a strong player, his presence is enjoyable, and he is**

**very intellectual. We’re sitting down for dinner now. Good night.**

* * *

  
  


**Chat Name: Ushiwaka Protection** **Squad**

**[21:02]**

**Satori: EMERGENCY MEETING WILL COMMENCE ONCE EVERYONE**

**HAS CONFIRMED THAT THEY READ THE CONTENT OF THE**

**OTHER CHAT**

**Shirabu: Yes, this meeting is very necessary. And I am not being sarcastic**

**Jin: Sure, you guys are ignoring time differences but I read it**

**Eita: Yes**

**Reon: Yes**

**Goshiki: SOGNDOHNDOFHISJEPOTSEA**

**Yunohama: Yee**

**Taichi: Yee**

**[21:05]**

**Satori: thats all were getting k**

**Satori: so u guys know how ushi is**

**Eita: Yes. Reading what he texted was rather unnerving**

**Shirabu: He’s oblivious. I was correct to fear for our captain.**

**Goshiki: DONT INSULT USHIJIMA-SAN**

**Shirabu: I’m not.**

**Reon: He really isn’t insulting him, Goshiki-kun**

**Goshiki: OKAY**

**Satori: alright**

**Satori: dont u dare say im wrong cuz ALL of u could just feel his words**

**Satori: how the heck did ushi get a crush on the guy who pounded us into the**

**dirt?**


	2. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima has a bad day  
> Sawamura is a good friend  
> Ushijima doesn't know what this feeling is until he does

“This may be the best thing I have ever seen.” Ushijima ignores Kuroo’s comment in favor of hitting the ball again, the feeling strange on his right hand. The movement feels strange and when the ball returns to him, he has to resist the urge to use his dominant hand. The ball comes to his right hand and he hits it again, the sound of the slam reverberating through the gym. It’s only thanks to workout out that he has a decent amount of strength in his right hand and his control only just rose to the level where he could do this simple exercise. 

And it  _ still  _ feels strange. 

Just like he predicted, Sawamura is able to serve to the net after a week. Some of them make it over but they’re weak and there isn’t a lot of control in the serves, some of them flying to the sides while others crash to the ground. 

Bokuto is having fun with Sawamura’s serves. The latter looks at the ball with the highest degree of concentration before he hits it. It was that concentration that gave Ushijima the confidence he has in Sawamura. Set jaw, focused gaze, rhythmic breathing and smooth movement. When he hits it, Bokuto tries to receive it but his defensive skills aren’t even close to Sawamura’s or their liberos’ so he rarely makes contact with the ball, dive receives falling short or being too slow for the serves which barely make it past the net. 

_ He’s hitting it too high _ Ushijima notes, catching the ball with his right hand, almost immediately tossing it to his left.  _ That’s making them slower and weaker, but it is also the only reason they’re making it over the net.  _ With a careful eye he watches Sawamura’s movements. What could be wrong? How he shifts his weight? A mild moment of hesitation? Something else?

"Sawamura” Ushijima says before he could grab another ball. He raises his left hand and shapes it as he would for a standard serve. “Before you hit the ball, your fingers curl forward. Keep your palm open.” Sawamura blinks at him, looks at Ushijima’s still raised left hand, then looks down at his own, and then looks up again.

And he smiles. 

“Thank you!” Sawaumura says, teeth flashing before he turns to the net, getting ready for the serve. Ushijima watches him. Parts of his shirt stick to his back from sweat, muscles rippling as he raises his arm for the serve. Set jaw, focused gaze, rhythmic breathing smooth movement. He tosses the ball up and brings his arm forward, the movement no longer visibility awkward. The ball soars and it isn’t too high or too low, crossing over just a few centimeters above the top of the net. Bokuto receives it, momentum slowed and now bouncing on his side of the net close to where another player would be standing if it were an actual match. 

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto calls. “That was a good one Daichi. One more! Let’s do this!” Sawamura grins. Easy and proud. The cart is half-full and he grabs one more ball. 

“One more, sure.”

Ushijima goes back to hitting the ball at an angle so that it bounces off the floor, onto the wall, and right back to Ushijima’s waiting hand. He thinks of the flaws in Bokuto’s receives, what adjustments Sawamura could apply to his stance. He thinks of Oikawa and Bokuto, the two usually calling Sawamura by his first name. Absently, he feels the sting in his hand. When he was little that sting had hurt and demotivated him, but now he sees it as a sign. That he’s doing the action right. Kuroo only calls Sawamura Sawamura because he likes calling him that, cutting it up into different versions like Sa’amura and Mura. He thinks of his own friends he made through their shared sport, calling him Wakatoshi after a few months and requested he call them by their first name relatively early into their friendship. Sawamura hasn’t requested that yet. 

“Daichi” Ushijima whispers as he hits the ball at the same time. When he sees Bokuto and Sawamura start gathering the balls and putting them back int the cart, Kuroo rushing in from his own exercises on the side to help them out, does Ushijima realize. He catches the ball in his right hand and looks down at it. 

He’d been using his right hand. And it felt comfortable. 

A flash of excitement and he tosses the ball a bit into the air and the feeling is back, the uncomfortableness in his muscles, the nagging in the back of his mind to switch to his right hand. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and turns walks to the cart to put the ball back, the toe of his shoe squeaking on the floor at the turn.

Ushijima doesn’t really know why he decided to go to college. He knows what he wants to do with his life: volleyball. He thought about it in the cold of winter while watching games on the TV. He thought about it the summers he would go to his father’s house in California. He thought about it when he was a toddler, receiving his father’s gentle tosses. He thought about it when his mom had tried to make him draw a volleyball with his right hand instead of his left.

At the end of his third year, he had been researching professional teams in the area, calculating which ones he’ll work better with, which ones might have openings soon. There was a feeling running through his veins, something he didn’t know how to explain. Jitters were the closest word although he never remembers feeling them before. Only descriptions of the feeling read from books allow him to know what the feeling is. But why am I feeling like this? 

And then he got a sports scholarship. 

It wasn’t his first scholarship. He’d gotten scholarship offers from the University of Tokyo, Waseda, and Chuo. And he declined all of them. But then he’d gotten another one, a day before he was planning on going to the open tryouts a professional team based in Hokkaido was hosting. He doesn’t know why he accepted. The font was the same as the other universities, there was a pamphlet about their team, contact information. It wasn’t as elegant as, say, Chuo’s, but there was a simplistic beauty to this letter. Practical and easy to read rather than alluring. 

He’d heard of the school, of course. For one because it’s new. Secondly because the volleyball team was doing relatively well for a newcomer. Another reason he recognizes the name is rooted with a faded, happy memory. Shiratorizawa had a practice match against them in his first year. It had been Ushijima’s first match with a university team. Shiratorizawa lost, three sets to one. 

Maybe it was remembering that match. Remembering the university students cooing over the highschoolers they had just stopped being, giving Ushijima advice he didn’t even know he had needed. Or maybe it was because he wanted to play for a school  _ one more time _ . To have the support of hundreds behind him. To see a crowd and know that he’s playing for them, for their pride, for their honor. To hear the chants reverberate throughout the gymnasium, the arena, his mind. 

“Mom” Ushijima had said during dinner “I don’t think I’ll be going for the open tryouts tomorrow.” His mother looked at him, slightly puzzled. His love for volleyball he got from his dad but his temperament he got from from his mother. The same logical look at life, straightforwardness, appreciation for the simple and direct. 

“Hm?” He slid the papers towards her.

“I think I want to play university first.” Logic. Use logic to appeal and convince. “It will help me become better prepared for a professional team. It will also benefit me by making me qualified for a different profession in case volleyball doesn’t work out.” Her face remained stoic. She took the papers with the smooth, perfect hands of a business woman. Her eyes, just like his, flitted over the invitation then the pamphlet. Page by page, her face began to change, different facials muscle shiting until she was smiling.They didn’t get to see each other too often, with him living at Shiratorizawa and her often being away for her job. But if it was one thing he was assured of, reinforced by the too few number of days they would be at home together, was that she loved him.

“As long as it’s fine with you.”

A week later he was lugging a suitcase and carrying a box, Satori holding the rest of his boxes down the hall that will become his home for the next few years. 

Calculus isn’t his favorite subject but it’s his favorite class. The professor teaches part-time at the university. He’s friendly and answers his questions when he asks them in private. His name is Tsukishima Akiteru but he insists that all his students call him by his first name, although all of them tack on the obligatory  _ -sensei _ . His name was strangely familiar. 

Akiteru-sensei had recently graduated from a university near Sendai, started teaching just this year, and plated volleyball. Even though Ushijima accepted the scholarship because of volleyball, he found himself becoming more and more interested in the educational requirements of his scholarship. The assignments, partially thanks to the curriculum at Shiratorizawa, weren’t too hard. Akiteru-sensei would talk to him about calculus and volleyball both and Ushijima found himself being intrigued with his novelistic journey into professional volleyball, a path which his professor’s little brother had apparently inspired and persuaded him to take. 

The hardest part of university were the students themselves. 

All of his hallmates, as expected, had made it onto the team. Kuroo and him made it onto the first line, a single occurrence of one of Bokuto’s dejected moods bumping him back onto the second line. Ushijima had felt bad and a bit fearfully at that moment, having never faced any of Bokuto’s moods at any of the national matches. Sawamura had been the first to react, leaving the drill he was doing without hesitation to take Bokuto’s hand an his and sling the other around the tallers spiker’s shoulders, telling him words that Ushijima will never know to get him out of the unverrving temporary mood of his. 

Oikawa had been close to becoming starting setter but the coach had directly told the brunette that he first needed to improve his visibly rocky relationship with Ushijima before he could step foot on the same court as him. 

Sawamura had been painfully content with his position in second string.  _ But he was a better defender than most of their spikers. He’s getting better with using his left hand, now able to comfortably serve over the net. Less than a month and I will be able to play with him _ . He ponders why he thought the words that way.  _ I _ will be able to play with him rather than  _ he _ will be able to play with me. 

They had a practice match with a nearby university the other day, and they won. Students from both schools had come to the other school’s gymnasium to watch the game. 

Sawamura hadn’t been switched in all game, and neither had Oikawa (get along with Ushijima first). Bokuto had been switched in at critical points in the game. His receiving practice with Daichi’s serves had made him much more successful than their libero with receiving the spikes from the opposing team’s two lefties.

And even with that, it still seems like Ushijima’s yearmates don’t like him. And he understood that very early in the school year. Even at Shiratorizawa with his well-known status as the third best ace in the country and team captain he only had his team to keep him company, to interact with him. People aren’t the same person they are on the court as they are off the court. The only problem with that is blurring the lines and trying to find how the person really is like. 

So he settled into this pattern, a pattern to place himself on the far side of what he really is like. In all of his classes he would sit in the corner of the room, far from the door. No matter what time he arrived before class started his corner would always be free of people. The only person who really willingly sits and interacts with him is a kind girl in his literature class, Michimiya. She’s a pleasant conversationalist and she’s also on the second string of the girls’ team. That’s two things they have in common: sport and education. She is also a person where he can allow himself to stand on the blurred line that seems to grow smaller and smaller some days, to be who he really is. 

There are words spoken in the hallways and he knows this is how life would of been had he gone to a school besides Shiratorizawa. Words about how scary he is, how imposing and cold hearted and robotic he is. Words that had seeped into him in his early childhood, grains of sand sticking to his legs in an empty sandbox, indents of the swing he would sit on with no one ever coming to kick their legs next to him. Words of how he seems like a ghost in all of his classes: present, observing, but never really doing. An unwanted mystery.

People move out of his way in the halls, filling back in after he passes. A clear message that they don’t want to touch him, that they don’t want to even know him. It’s both people who he recognizes and people he doesn’t who do this. It’s the same loneliness he had in Junior High, people straying away and never letting him get close, bouncing a ball in the empty gym during the lunch break. He guesses that’s one of the reasons he is more than tolerant of his hallmates. They don’t treat him differently because they know how he actually is instead of taking in and holding onto what others say and do around him. Deep down, he years for proper human interaction, to have the sort of bond he had with Satori again, to have the balance that Bokuto and Kuroo have.

When he gets up to go for the bathroom in class, there would sometimes be items missing from his desk when he’d return. During peer review sessions, the marks on his papers would always be harsh because the same people would always volunteer to take his paper. He appreciates the effort his classmates put into reviewing and is mildly annoyed with how persistent they are, but he knows that they are being too aggressive and insensible with the grading. The professor always gives him a pitying look when he sees his peer-reviewed sheet. 

He dreams of crowds with blurred faces surrounding the court, cheering his team on. Cheering him on. Chanting his name as he bounces a ball, preparing for a serve. The reverent silence when he jumps, when he flies. The explosion of sound that follows the slam of a ball on the court. 

His nightmares aren’t of views of a loosing game while sitting on the bench. They’re of taunts and jeers and darkness. Falling shards of sneering reflections. Silent classrooms. Empty halls. A hall of five with only one room being occupied. Dusty mattresses. A shorter, brown-haired wing spiker turning his back on him and joining the blurred crowd with their taunts, kind face twisted into a crystal clear sneer. 

Today was a bad day. 

Morning practice revolved around conditioning so Ushijima didn’t really have time to interact with his hallmates (friends, Satori had told him when he called him one night, telling him about his classmates and how differently they treat him compared to his hallmates and just wondering why that was) He found that talking to them, being normal, lifts his mood considerably for the rest of the day. He could ignore the whispers by remembering Bokuto leaping and clinging onto him like a koala, Sawamura mimicking Seijoh’s old ace by throwing a ball at the back of Oikawa’s head, Kuroo being Kuroo.

He was tripped no less than three times before lunch, a new record he dully noted. All of those times had people laughing at him, saying things, but he didn’t show how it affected him. They hit him harder than usually, his brain having nothing to use to distract him. He’d brush himself off and would continue to walk tall because he knows from past experience that showing weakness will just make them pick on him more than they already do. 

He was late to lunch because his professor asked him to stay behind and clarify some of the finer points on the easy he submitted a few days ago (it’s nothing bad! I’m just very intrigued with the concepts you included in here. I’m just thankful it’s not another block of blandness unlike some of my students). And then at lunch the meal he usually buys was all out so he ordered something else and forgot to ask for the list of ingredients. Before he knew it, he had ingested cheese, which has cow’s milk, which he just so happens to be quite allergic to which is quite ironic considering his nomenclature, leading to a race to the closest bathroom, throwing up in one of the stalls with the hope that he doesn’t get an allergic reaction. By the time he (hopefully) got everything out of his stomach time had flowed by quickly and he was close to being late for calculus. 

So he was hungry, some of his muscles were sore from conditioning with parts of him hurting from some of the rougher falls. He had stayed up late practicing to keep Oikawa company delaying when he’d get to work on his assignments to late at night. And then Goshiki was awake and started texting him so he had to indulge Shiratorizawa’s new ace until two in the morning, his night giving him a more useless than helpful three hours of sleep.

Ushijima wasn’t one to belief in bad luck or luck in general, the fact that something greater than him twisted the strings of life like a puppeteer. But he was close to considering becoming religious when it started raining on the day didn’t have an umbrella. The cherry on top was trudging to his calculus class and a classmate was conveniently standing in the middle of the hall, pretending to stretch when Ushijima moved to get to the door by stepping around him, hitting him hard on the jaw while he let out an exaggerated yawn.

The only thing that made it all better was that their professor had hurriedly rounded the corner with a few files in hand a few moments before the actually hit and saw the whole thing. 

“Sando-kun” Akiteru said, usually kind eyes narrow. When he wanted to he could look imposing, regardless of his gentle features and positive demeanor. “Front office.  _ Now _ . And hope Ushijima-kun doesn’t file for assault.” Sando’s eyes had widened. 

“P-p-professor” he stuttered. “I was just stre-”

“You weren’t” Akiteru calmly said, gaze fiery. “I saw that wrist movement. I’m faculty- it’s your word against mine. Now  _ go _ .” Sando scurries the opposite direction and the professor tutts before hurrying past the door to the classroom to examine Ushijima. Only then does the past few seconds register some-what, leading to him unconsciously raising a hand to lightly touch his jaw. It hurts and he’s sure it’s going to bruise. He tastes blood where he thinks his tooth cut the inside of his cheek. It was his first time getting hit- he wonders how Satori would react. 

“Ushijima-kun” the Akiteru says, voice concerned and eyes widened as he gently takes Ushijima’s jaw and examines it. “You’re soaking wet and now you’re injured. Go to the health office you’re excused from cl-”

“I will be fine, sensei.” Ushijima insists. “I particularly enjoy your class.” Akiteru bites his lower lip. Then he sighs, next words reluctant as if he doesn’t believe he wasn’t going to send an injured student to the office. But Ushijima was stubborn, for one. He wasn’t going to disregard his education because of a thing as simple as a bruised face. 

“Does your bag happen to have any spare clothes?”

“I have a jacket.”

“Put that on. I can’t have you getting a cold.” Ushijima opens his backpack and gets the thin spare jacket he always keeps in there, taking off his wet shirt first before putting the jacket on and zipping it up. He puts his shirt in a pocket of his bag that doesn’t have anything that couldn’t risk getting soaked. “I have a few icepacks in the mini fridge. Hurry in now.”

Everyone else is already talking and settling in their seats but when the professor enters, it quiets down only for whispers to start up when Ushijima enters, leaving behind wet footprints, hair plastered on his face and nearly entirely obscuring one eye. He holds back a shiver: it’s cold. He doesn’t look at Sawamura, although he can feel his gaze on him. It feels like he can almost pinpoint exactly where Sawamura’s are focused, brown eyes burning into him. He still doesn’t look. (You can trust your friends, Wakatoshi-kun, Satori had assured the other day). 

It’s only after Akiteru gives him an icepack and a tissue to wipe the blood that apparently trickled out his mouth does Ushijima really think about the severity of his situation. A classmate who he never talked to, whose name he didn’t even know before the professor had called him out no more than a minute ago. 

“I’ll contact you’re coach. I’ll know if you go to evening practice, Ushijima-kun.” Ushijima merely nods, holding the icepack to his jaw, going to his usual empty corner in the front of the room. He takes his materials out, trying not to let his hair drip water on the paper. 

He shivers and his eyes feel warm because that hit really did hurt and his day has been terrible and he just wants to  _ sleep _ . The prickling isn’t out of sadness but exhaustion. Fighting against closing his eyes for just a few seconds he focuses his attention to the professor’s lecture, taking detailed notes as usual although the numbers and characters are a bit wobbly. The chill settles and he holds back the urge to sit in a way that will conserve his warmth more efficiently. 

After forty minutes, he is, unsurprisingly, still wet. Albeit not as much as before with the level of wetness having been reduced to a sort of uncomfortable dampness, like wearing clothes after a shower without having properly towelled yourself down. He doesn’t know how that feels like in actuality, since he always sufficiently towels himself. But Satori had described (whined) the feeling to him a few times. Akiteru gives the class some time to write down the problems they have to do for homework from the textbook and get started on the problems as he prepares for the next segment of the lecture. 

He shivers and adjusts the limp icepack, closing his eyes and leaning into the cold. Only a few seconds. Then he’ll get started on the first problem. Optimize the time he has. 

“Ushijima?” His eyes lazily open and he looks to his left. Sawamura sits down next to him wearing his backpack. The teen looks concerned. “Are you okay?” He had felt Sawamura’s gaze but the concern he voices lifts Ushijima’s mood almost immediately. “You have some, uh, dried blood.” Sawamura points to his own face and Ushijima mirrors him, fingers coming away with dried dark red flakes. 

He looks down notebook, not wanting to continue looking at the other. 

“We couldn’t find you at lunch.” Sawamura says. The confusion must of somehow shown on his face. “It’s a Tuesday. Bokuto, Oikawa, and Kuroo’s classes end at the same time. We always have lunch together at the usual table. I mean, we were a bit late, but you never forget.” There’s hurt in his voice and Ushijima feels bad. Really bad. Even though it wasn’t really his fau- it was his fault. He didn’t check the ingredients of the meal he ordered and because of his carelessness he’s at a risk of having an allergic reaction and he ditched his friends. He slides his phone out of his pocket, clicking it on, and stares at the texts that line the lock screen. 

“I apologize. I will be sure to remember next week.” Sawamura continues to stare at him. 

“You know, it counts as assault. He hasn’t really been the kindest to you. You should report him.” Ushijima’s brow furrows. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You got punched. That much I can tell. And it’s probably Sando who did it too. I noticed he’s not here.” He’s silent for a moment and he speaks in a softer tone. “I’ve always thought that he had a grudge against you ever since he didn’t make it onto the team. And then when it looks like sensei obviously favors you when he’s been trying to butter him up all term. I’m right, aren’t I.” He doesn’t say it like a question: it’s a truth. As usual, Sawamura’s logic is flawless. 

He nods. He always thought that Sawamura was very perceptive in certain situations. He’s able to easily get along with just about anyone with this skill. And also because he’s a naturally pleasant person to be around. “When we get back to our hall, you’re going to tell me how your day has been going. Honestly, you look like crap right now. So pack your stuff up. I already got permission. I’m taking you back home.” Ushijima looks up, brow furrowed. 

“Sawa-”

“Nope, not hearing it.” Sawamura shakes his head, face set. “Pack your stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if you caught a fever already.” Ushijima nods and it feels like someone else is doing the motion for him. Ushijima looks up as he packs and he sees Akiteru send him a very obvious wink before looking back at the computer. 

Sawamura leads him out and it’s still raining. He takes out a black umbrella, raising it over their heads. Just the sound of the drops falling on the concrete makes Ushijima shiver. 

“Did you know that I knew Akiteru before coming here?” Sawamura asks. “He’s a Karasuno alumni- he played with the first Little Giant back when the older Ukai was coach. Our middle blocker, number eleven, he’s Akiteru’s little brother. Tsukishima Kei.” Ushijima nods, ears already automatically tuned to Sawamura’s voice. 

It’s not a short walk to the dorm, an eight minute journey across the sprawling campus. Ushijima doesn’t feel like talking and Sawamura doesn’t push him to, distracting his mind with a pleasant flow of words. The first thing Sawamura makes Ushijima do is give him his key so he can get him a change of clothes while he showers. Ushijima obliges. The shower is warm and refreshing and when he gets out, there’s a towel and a set of casual clothes neatly folded and set out for him. 

He hears noises from the kitchen across the hall. The door is propped open. Ushijima closes it behind him, wet clothes in one hand, other hand busy toweling his wet hair. He puts the clothes in the washing machine, pouring the detergents and putting in some change to start it before sitting down at the armchair. There’s a throw blanket which he’s never seen before but he still uses it, wrapping it around himself, drawing his legs up after kicking his shoes off. 

“That’s the softest I’ve ever seen you” he hears Sawamura say. He looks up and the other is handing him a cup of what he recognizes as tea thanks to the smell. Sawamura’s smells more sweet and chocolaty. Hot chocolate. 

“Thank you” Ushijima says, uncovering his hands to take the cup, taking a sip. It’s good. Sawamura leans over and puts a hand on Ushijima’s forehead. He stops himself from flinching and leaning in. Flinching because why is Sawamura’s hand so cold? And leaning in because it’s Sawamura’s hand so it’s comforting, reminiscent of his grade school days when he’d be ill in bed and his mom would take care of him, bringing him soup and entertainment, feeling his forehead and rotating damp cloths on and off his skin. 

“You’re coming down with something.”

“It might be useful to tell you my immune system might of been compromised due to an allergic reaction” Ushijima says, taking another sip of tea. His throat is starting to hurt and the warmth soothes the pain that has taken home there. It’s good tea. “I accidentally ingested some dairy product during lunch, which was why I was unable to join you. I was able to expel most of it but there are always some side effects.” Sawamura’s brow furrows. He already knows about Ushijima’s allergy after he asked if anyone had any allergies the first time he cooked for all of the floor’s inhabitants. 

“What should I look out for?”

“Currently my throat hurts. I’m unsure if it is because of the rain or my allergy.” Sawamura hums. 

"So bruised jaw and I’m guessing you cut the inside of your cheek?” Ushijima nods. “Alright. I’ll get you a gel pack from the freezer so nothing melts on you. Can’t have you injured for too long. You have a lot of improving to do.” Sawamura disappears into the kitchen and comes back with the gel pack. He hands it over and Ushijima gratefully accepts it.

“Thank you.” Sawamura smiles warmly at him and it makes Ushijima feel better. The bad day had been bearing down on him so much suddenly feels a lot more tolerable, the bad moments that built off each other suddenly being moved to the deeper crevices of his mind. Sawamura brushes some of Ushijima’s hair back. He takes the towel from where Ushijima had abandoned it on the armrest and starts toweling his hair, gently drying the locks. 

“So tell me about your day” Sawamura says. “Try not to sugarcoat too much, although I know you probably can’t do that.” He ends with a chuckle. Ushijima gives a small nod, leaning into his friend’s toweled touch. 

“It wasn’t pleasant” Ushijima says. “I was tripped thrice, I ingested a material I am allergic too, I got punched” Sawamura lets out a humourless chuckle at this “and I got soaked by the rain. I had a late night due to Oikawa and Goshiki. I had an insufficient amount of sleep.” At some point, the towel was replaced with Sawamura’s fingers, gently undoing all the knots in his hair. He considers if the atmosphere of summer was replaced with that of winter. This would be very relaxing on a snowy day, curled on the armchair with tea, a blanket, and Sawamura. He’s a very good friend. 

“Well, I should fill you in on what happened at lunch. As usual, you’re lucky you weren’t there.” Ushijima lets out a huff, tilting his head back just a little, fingers grazing the top of his forehead. “Bokuto mixed liquids from each of our meals together and then drank it. Oikawa almost got in a fight with Kuroo when he bought the last milk bread but he’ll be busy worshipping Kuroo for a few hours because it ryan out he bought it for hum. Tsukishima learned yesterday that his brother is my professor so he sent me information I could use against him in case I get a bad grade. I can lend some of the blackmail to you, although I doubt you’d ever need it.” Ushijima sips his tea. There are no more knots in his hair but Sawamura continues to run his fingers through, gently massaging his scalp. It feels nice. Very nice. Peaceful.

Ushijima finishes his tea and set it on the table next to him before leaning even. more into Sawamura’s touch. The younger continues to talk. The things he says are never boring, always interesting and making Ushijima think about the topic with more depth than he’d ever hope to think of in any other situation. 

He only discovers he’s fallen asleep when he wakes up.

At some point, he’d been moved to the longer couch a pillow place under his head and his body tucked in the throw. All the main lights are off but the TV is on, a movie playing on low volume. He hears Kuroo’s snicker and he sees Oikawa sitting with Bokuto, the two of them buried under an alien-themed blanket Oikawa often trudges around the floor with. The sound of rain can be heard over the movie, occasional accompanied by the low rumble of thunder. 

“Hey, Daichi” Bokuto says, gold eyes catching Ushijima’s, warm flames in the darkness. “Toshi’s awake.” Ushijima blinks blearily and shivers, curling up a bit more under the blanket lightly nuzzling the pillow. Someone crouches in front of him, the light from the tv painting the shirt a soft blue. Sawamura takes something off of Ushijima’s forehead- he didn’t notice something was there- putting the back of his hand against his cheek then his forehead.

“You’re still burning up” Sawamura says, brow furrowed. “Kuroo, toss me the thermometer?” He pushes back some of Ushijima’s hair back from where it’s been plastered against his forehead. 

Ushijima gets to stifle a yawn before the top of an electronic thermometer is put in his ear. 

“You probably have no idea what’s going on” Sawamura says. “But you have a fever. It rose about two hours ago. Do you remember waking up before this?”

“No?” Should he? He has a fever? Two hours ago. . .is it nighttime already? Did they all go to practice already?

The thermometer beeps and Sawamura looks at it, expression worried. “Still at 39.6.” He puts something cool on Ushijima’s forehead. 

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Bokuto asks. Ushijima’s mind strangely overlays a picture of a puppy’s head instead of Bokuto’s, eyes large, furry brows furrowed, ears pushed back. 

“Yeah, he will be” Sawamura assures. He strokes Ushijima hair. 

“Sawamura?” Ushijima asks, eyes slowly closing while pressing his head closer to the warm hand. “I look forward to winter.” Sawamura’s face, the only thing to describe it is soft. The feeling of sitting the perfect distance from the fireplace while it snows outside. Content and relaxed, all of his troubles wiped away. He’s happy he went to university. He doesn’t think he’s felt this kind of warmth ever before. He never knew this was something a human being could feel. 

“Sleep, Ushijima. You’ll be fine.”

  
  
  


The next time Ushijima wakes up, the TV is still on and sunlight is just starting to stream through the window. He sits up, throat and jaw hurting, head feeling strange, nose a bit stuffy. Oikawa and Bokuto are asleep on each other, Kuroo spread on the recliner. On the floor next to him a futon is spread, Sawamura fast asleep, gently snoring. Ushijima rubs his eyes and looks at the TV. It’s on some sports channel, a volleyball game on. He curls up in the blanket and watches the game, feeling more and more better as the minutes pass by. 

Sawamura is the last to wake up. When he does, Ushijima hands him a plate of food for breakfast. Even with that sleepy look on his face Ushijima’s insides light up with that new feeling he discovered yesterday, the winter warmth. 

“Breakfast in bed!” Oikawa grins, somersaulting over the back of the couch to lie down, the newest issue of Weekly Shonen Jump in hand. “How domestic.”

Two days later, Oikawa comes down with a fever. It was a struggle for the four to keep him from running away to the gym, which he would of succeeded with doing the first time had Bokuto not tackled him. Ushijima helps take care of him because he got a quick summary from Bokuto about what happened in the hours he was asleep. Oikawa left practice early so that he could watch over Ushijima, giving Sawamura the time to do his homework. 

In calculus, Sawamura sits next to Ushijima in his empty corner of the classroom. He always waits in the hallway for Ushijima to arrive before walking in with him, talking to him. He’s not treated different by his year mates but when he’s walking with Sawamura, he finds that he’s never tripping over anything and that his ears never catch any whispers. 

* * *

**Recipient: Satori**

**[24:58]**

**Wakatoshi: Satori**

**Satori: thats my name**

**Wakatoshi: Can I talk to you about something?**

**Satori: do you want to call?**

**Satori: im not gonna q? why ur awake**

_ Calling. . . . . . . . . . . _

“Hey, Wakatoshi-kun!”

“Satori.”

“Wow. You sound like crap. What happened?”

“I had an allergic reaction and fell ill two days ago.”

“. . .Wow. I’m. . .I’m stunned. What’s been going on? You alright now?”

"Yes. My floorma- my friends. They helped me get better.”

A whistle. “Even Oikawa?”

“Yes.”

“So what do you want to talk about?”

“Sawamura.”

Silence. “Pardon?”

“Sawamura Daichi. I want to talk about him. I was actually punched the day I fell ill-”

“Wait a wait a moment”

“-right before my calculus class, which Sawamura happens to share with me. After nearly an hour he forced me to leave class with him in order to take care of me. I fell asleep and woke up after the others returned from practice and Sawamura was still taking care of me. And his actions, I am very grateful for them, but there is something about him that has been bothering me. He is very kind and polite and he gets along with anyone. He’s very kind to me and he treats me normally and he understands when I don't want to talk but still want to interact. I discovered a new sort of feeling, one which I haven’t quite been able to name. It is a sort of warmth, such as the feeling of warmth during winter or the feeling of seeing a plant successfully sprout. And even though he’s the one who has been taking care of me I feel strangely protective about him. I really don’t understand why he was put on the second string. His skills and personality far surpass most of the team’s. And I really do enjoy spending time with him and if I have a bad day he is always successful in making me feel better. There is also-”

“WAKATOSHI!”

“Yes?”

“That’s, like, the first time I’ve heard you ramble.  _ Ever _ . And it’s a bit creepy because your voice didn’t even change pitch so it was like weird barely recognizable mumbling but nonono. Rambling. About the Crow Captain.” A wistful sigh. “Ahh~ I guess we were all right, then.”

Silence. “What?”

“Dude, you sound like death. Have the thing you kept on force feeding Shirabu- turmeric, was it? Anyway, when you texted us three weeks back that you were going to teach Sawamura how to play lefty, you also texted a whole paragraph of what was basically a love letter to him. But you can be pretty oblivious so I don’t think you even realize it now. But Wakatoshi, man. . .you have a crush. A pretty strong crush on Sawamura-kun which you haven’t even thought about yet.”

“What is a crush?”

“Uh, it’s like the training wheels to falling in love? It’s what makes people to ask someone out. Remember how Goshiki always acted around that one girl for a few weeks? It’s like that.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a crush before. So you are saying I fell in love?”

“Well, if Sawamura managed to make you  _ ramble  _ and that warmth feeling you talked about, then I think that qualifies as falling in love. Think about a crush as being in the falling process. Not yet love, I think, you’re still falling. I don’t know, what do you think?”

“. . .I don’t know, Satori. I’ve never really thought about love.”

“Okay, alright. I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like crying. Anyway, I’m going to send you a book, okay? It’s kind of like what you’re going through right now. It’s not that long, less than two hundred pages, but it’s about this guy who slowly falls in love with this girl he sees in passing and has club with. Read it and maybe,  _ maybe _ , you might find yourself thinking the same things as the main guy. Just… Waka. Try not to mess anything up.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

The book arrives a week later, at the start of Golden Week. In the span of that week, Ushijima does many things. He goes to a newly opened coffee shop with his four friends, roams around a bit, and then they head into a newly opened cat cafe. Sawamura has also improved greatly with his serves and has begun to have Ushijima actually start practicing his spikes with his right hand. After he fell ill, Ushijima and Oikawa manages to really connect as friends. He got moved to first string, he and their fourth-year setter often trading places on the court depending on who the situation calls for. Sawamura remains on second string, waiting to be at his best with using his left hand before revealing his new skill to the team. Ushijima hasn’t cared for suspense before but now he actively looks forward to every practice match to see if Sawamura would finally get to fight on the court at his side. 

Sawamura goes home for Golden Week and so does Kuroo. Bokuto and Oikawa stay, the latter mostly to practice volleyball and get ahead on his assignments so he has more time in the future for volleyball. 

He reads the book. 

The book is actually strange. It’s helpful in the way that it’s written in the first point of view. He has to look up a few unfamiliar kanji and terms, some of them making him blush and quickly skip over the paragraph he’s on There’s a lot that he doesn’t understand, a lot of feelings that he’s never felt before, but by the end of the hundred seventy-three pages, Ushijima has a list. 

He finds himself experiencing some of the same symptoms as the protagonist:

  1. Not realizing his feelings at first
  2. (Thus) Being immensely confused about his feelings
  3. Enjoying Sawamura’s company more than others
  4. Thinking about him at random moments
  5. Knowing the little things about Sawamura (He chews on his left side for smaller portions and only on the right for larger bites)
  6. Feeling “warm” and “fuzzy” upon experiencing physical contact with him



When Sawamura gets back from Golden Week, Ushijima is waiting for him at the train station. And the smile he gets, so relaxed and happy, makes his day. And then the hug. Sawamura chats with him all the way to the bus and Ushijima adds another thing to his list. 

  1. Having no idea how to act upon his newly identified feelings



So he decides to do what he read from numerous blogs and websites. He’ll be patient. He’ll act naturally around Sawamura without seeming strange. He won’t say anything about what he feels unless asked. See how it goes, allow fate to guide him. 

Their next practice match is against Waseda in early June. Sawamura finally gets to play in the practice match after one of the spikers lands wrong on his ankle. They’re at a deuce for the winning set. Oikawa sends Ushijima a look, Sawamura catching on. They know what that means, that mischievous look in his eye, quirk of his lips, and quick wink. Oikawa tosses to the left, to where Ushijima is, but it goes over his hand, making him swipe through empty air. The blockers move their arms and they would of blocked Sawamura had he hit it with his right hand. 

He slams it down with his left hand before landing on his feet, flying past the leftmost blocker’s hand, their libero not even making it close to the ball. It cuts just inside of the sideline, aim sharp and precise. 

Sawamura lets out an accomplished cry, pumping a fist into the air. Ushijima raises his hand for a high-five, the action never having become more comfortable but he finds himself actually wanting to high-five Sawamura. The shorter just looks at him with a grin. He high fives him quickly and then pulls him into a hug, head resting on his chest. His face is tinged pink from the excitement and joy as the rest of the team crowds around him. Sawamura tilts his head up, eyes trained on Ushijima’s for a few more seconds after he pulls away before turning to Bokuto and Kuroo. 

He really doesn’t know what to do. 


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finals  
> Cuddles  
> Familiar faces  
> And the awaited university finals match for the spot of Tokyo representative for the National Collegiate Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this fic before posting it makes me realize: how much fluff do I write?

Term finals. Essays. Project deadlines. Last-minute assignments and grade submissions. GPA fluctuations.

The two weeks before finals were stressful, crammed with study sessions and volleyball practice. Even Oikawa didn’t dare to stay late in the gym. 

Ushijima has no regrets with choosing the college path. He knows for sure that he is going to play professional, be it during or after college depending on team openings and if someone scouts him during the school year. Saying that, it is stressful being an athlete and student at the same time. More concerning than finals is the day after finals which is when they have the final match for the summer tournament. 

Chuo. Chuo where Ushijima has learned that one of his Shiratorizawa teammates, another Shiratorizawa alumni who was on the team when Ushijima was a first year, two of Oikawa’s old teammates, and one of Sawamura’s former teammate from Karasuno are playing for. Reon and an Azumane, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. It will be very fun seeing his friend, former teammate, on an actual court rather than the recorded Chuo matches they had gone over together, picking apart their defense and offense.

“USHIWAKA WHERE’S THE LIMITS KEY?”

“Bro, have you seen my pencil?”

“THE TOAST IS BURNING!”

But it was worth it. And Ushijima doesn’t mean in an educational way, folding the paper filled with chemical formulas he never brought himself to memorize and hope that they won’t take up a large part of the exam. 

All finals were on Friday in order to reduce chances of cheating. That Sunday, Sawamura had made them text their friends and family they won’t be available on the phone for the next week before powering them all down and storing the devices. One week without a phone. One week without Satori asking him how Sawamura is doing and Goshiki spamming him about the new first-years who were enraptured by his kouhai’s stories about the indomitable Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

There were no classes due to final exams preparation. Kuroo’s science experiment was kept from exploding twice. An Oikawa meltdown was prevented when his conditioner ran out. Bokuto’s dejected modes were becoming more severe but Ushijima found that it was very effective if he did the comforting because he usually doesn’t do that sort of stuff. Sawamura seems to be staying calm but Ushijima has to replace his coffee with hot chocolate too many times to count because of how his hands shake because the caffeine’s the only thing that is keeping him up and running. 

That one week, though, is worth the “cuddle piles”. All of their mattresses are moved from their rooms to the “living room”, coffee table and couches moved aside so the floor is covered with the mattresses, touching edge to edge. They would study together, lying across each other, textbooks in hand, notebooks scattered and pens and pencils mixing up. Laughter when someone nudges the ticklish spot right below Kuroo’s right set of ribs or Bokuto’s stomach. Oikawa tossing bite-sized packets of milk bread into the air for them to snack on. 

The nights were the best. 

They only had three all nighters. The last two nights before finals were strictly for catching up on sleep so they don’t collapse (like Oikawa did on Tuesday) due to exhaustion. The AC would be on full blast because its only settings are  _ too hot _ and  _ too cold _ , and the latter is infinitely better in any situation. It would have them watching a subbed korean romcom with Ushijima putting his culinary major to use by making a complex hot chocolate with soothing spices, like cinnamon, as well as small swirls of honey. They would laugh and drink on the mattresses, the five of them huddled together with blankets splayed over them. Sawamura allowed Oikawa to take his phone out to tape it to the wall and then set it to take a picture in ten seconds. All of them sitting together, smiling, the room warmly lit by a single floor lamp. And it was a good picture. Sawamura had been resting his head on Ushijima’s shoulder. 

Oikawa posted it on his social media. Instagram, he thinks. It became popular very quickly and Oikawa had shoved the phone in his face, pointing at comments about him and Sawamura looking adorable. He chose to continue memorizing recipes and cooking methods so he could push down push down the strange warmth he was feeling in his cheeks. The novel he read called it a blush. 

Thursday night, they slept earlier than usual. They were all tired. Scattered in random positions around the mattresses. Ushijima had been the last to fall asleep and right before he was about to Bokuto decided to use his thigh as a pillow. 

He woke up at midnight. Ushijima was tired and about to fall asleep again when he noticed the weight on him, a weight besides Bokuto’s head which somehow hasn’t made his thigh go numb yet. 

Moonlight is gently streaming through the window, surroundings looking ethereal. Sawamura has rolled over in his sleep, curled on his side with his head on Ushijima’s shoulder, an arm flung over his chest. His breathing tickles his neck. Ushijimaa looks down, breath catching. He looks so relaxed, eyelashes dark and contrasting against his lit skin. Shining, a strange color which he doesn’t have a name for. Ushijima has sometimes thought about how it must feel if you’ve lived your life without seeing a single color, say, red. And then, one day, you see something that is red. And you do not have a name for that color because you never knew about its existence. It would be beautiful, surprising. Something foreign and unique which you wish you could see once more, and once more after that, wishing you can see it everyday. 

Ushijima moves the arm Sawamura just missed lying. He hesitates, heart pounding. Swallow. He wraps his arm around the other and Sawamura doesn’t make a noise, body huddling closer and arm tightening its hold on Ushijima. He smiles, other hand coming to touch Sawamura’s hair. He shouldn’t. It’s improper. If Sawamura were awake, he’d probably be creeped out. It’s softer than it looks.

Sawamura nuzzles him and Ushijima doesn’t think before he acts, just remembering the research, the observations he’s made of people in public, of actions he’s read and seen in movies. He kisses Sawamura’s forehead and turns on his side. Bokuto’s head falls off his thigh. Sawamura shifts and huddles closer, hair tickling his chin and the underside of his jaw. Ushijima tucks his head under his jaw, cradling Sawamura close to him. In his chest, his heart hammers harder than it ever did in a game. His mouth feels dry. His body is stiff. This perfect moment, a chance event. He feels the guilt. 

Sawamura is a good friend, one of the best Ushijima has ever had. Even with knowing each other for not that long Ushijima knows he’s changed. He’s not the same Ushijima Wakatoshi who first walked down the hall with Satori helping him with his boxes. He’s learned more, as strange as it may sound, about being human. He finds himself appreciating the actions of others. He puts effort into his actions. He’s learning how to understand.

_ I can’t wake up like this. He can’t wake up like this. Only for one minute  _ Ushijima thinks, starting his countdown, even when Sawamura mumbles something incoherent. Even when their legs get tangled, bringing them closer together. Even when he closes his eyes and starts counting down from sixty. Even when he feels the head shift from under him. Even when he feels something warm on his face. Even when he opens his eyes and in the darkness he sees brown eyes staring up at him. Even when he just tightens his grip again and Sawamura moves so that his head is tucked under Ushijima’s jaw once again. 

In the morning, he wakes up to Kuroo shaking him awake with the number sixty in his head. He couldn’t make it past that number. Kuroo snickers at him and then tosses Ushijima’s phone at him. He catches it. 

“Oikawa took the pic” he says. “I didn’t know you were a cuddler. Now Bo’s going to make sure he sleeps next to you next time we have a cuddle pile.” Ushijima frowns and sees a new message in their five-person group chat. He opens it up. There’s a picture. 

It’s early in the morning, that’s obvious by the lighting, but it’s still clear and taken well. Blanket curled around their hips, legs tangled, arms around each other, a head tucked under his own, Bokuto fast asleep by their feet with his head on Ushijima’s ankle. 

He saves it. 

And then he sends it to Satori. 

“You know” Kuroo says, sitting down besides him “I can see what you’re thinking. About Sawamura. It’s not that obvious, since your face really doesn’t show a lot of emotion, but you like him. A lot.” Ushijima looks up and frowns. “Hey hey, don’t give me that look! I don’t feel like that with him. I like him as a good friend, nothing more. He’s all yours but, your pining” he puts a hand on Ushijima’s shoulder, the other flat against his heart. An action meant to emphasize. “It’s painful.”

“I am aware of that” Ushijima says. “I am merely waiting, to see if he may return my affections.” He thinks back to those brown eyes, sleepy but cognitive. “Do you have any advice?” Kuroo thinks for a few moments, hands falling from their position over his heart and on Ushijima’s shoulder.. 

“Don’t force yourself to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. Just, act natural. You’re already really nice to him and all. If you keep it up, I’m sure he’ll feel something for you really soon.” Then he stands. “Thank you.”

His brow furrows. “Why? I should be thanking you, Kuroo.” Kuroo shakes his head. 

“Nope. You won me my bet with Bokuto. I said that you got a crush of Saa’mura but he said no. Even with the picture he said that could of happened in your sleep. So thanks for the words! Now I gotta go to finals.” And he leaves just as suddenly as he entered. 

Ushijima then showers, brushes, dresses, and had a light breakfast. He packs his bag and then heads for his first exam. He passes by Sawamura and the man smiles at him, bright and warm, before they continue to their separate locations. That was the best sleep he’s had in while and he’s not one to really rate his sleep on a daily basis. 

His first exam is for one of his culinary classes. The teacher decided to be strict and cruel, according to other students, by not giving them any hints about what their final may possibly be about. Once everyone was at their stations, he explained what they were to do.

Make a drink or desert with the following ingredient having a prominent role: red chili powder. 

Sawamura’s favorite drink is a type of hot chocolate with a surprise flavor he can’t identify before he takes a sip. Kuroo is too fond of replacing the salt with paprika. Similar to red chili powder, although a bit milder. 

Ushijima ends up making a modified version of the hot chocolate he usually makes. While most of the other students make cupcakes or a savory dish modified to look like a desert as well as sugar thrown in to make it sweet, he labors over a pot, pouring in milk, dissolving sugar, reducing and increasing heat as he adds cinnamon and vanilla, making the chocolate sauce at the same time before pouring it in. Then he adds the chili powder, stirs, reduces heat, removes the milky film that formed on top, and tasted it. A little bit more chili powder. He pours it into a simple white mug, not even putting anything on top of the liquid such as whipped cream or a decorative stick of cinnamon. He uses a toothpick to disrupt the surface once it’s settled, creating a spiral of darker liquid. Bokuto always draws something in his drink before the actual consumption. 

The professor looks at the cup skeptically. The other students snicker. He’s very critical, judging every aspect of the meal. He grades here and now, their ending time being fifteen minutes before they have to leave so he can taste and grade and humiliate in front of the rest of the class. He made a girl who had a beautiful batch of spiced taiyaki cry. 

“What is this?” The professor asks. 

“Hot chocolate.” Ushijima simply says. The professor blinks, raises it. 

“Nice smell” he says. “There’s cinnamon and vanilla. I do not smell the chilli, however.” 

“I assure you, it is in there, sensei. I simply cooked it in a way to mask the smell.” The professor gives him a look before taking a sip. And then he doesn’t stop. He continues to drink, never lowering the mug until it’s empty, setting it gently on the counter and wiping the milk moustache off his upper lip with a handkerchief.

“Perfect temperature for consumption considering the weather- not exactly warm but not hot. There is a nice tingle that comes from the chilli-cinnamon blend and a nice powerful kick that comes at the end. The chocolate sauce was very well made, which you can tell as there are no clumps at the bottom of the mug which develops from overuse of cocoa powder. A hundred, Ushijima-kun. There should be some thermoses in the back. Fill up however much you wish to keep and be sure to return the thermoses once you are done, I will keep the rest of the drink. I look forward to your return next semester.” 

* * *

_ At lunch _ . . .

“I got a hundred on my first final.”

“WOAH! Isn’t your professor like that super mean one you talked about once?”

“Yes. Him. He appreciated my hot chocolate very much. Here, have some. You will like it especially, Sawamura.”

“Oh ho ho, surprise flavor? Let’s se-”

“Chili powder!” Sawamura exclaimed. Kuroo pouts. 

“Dang it, Mura. Always beating me.” Sawamura smile simply became more radiant. 

* * *

They passed. All of them. 

Saturday came quickly. 

They had just finished warming up at the practice court and now the team was freshening up quickly, changing into their uniforms, relaxing shoes, drinking water, giving each other pep talks. Putting on the black, red, and gold never became tiring for Ushijima. Even when the number on his chest and back is not a one but a nine, he is happy. Sawamura had laughed when they got their jerseys. Sawamura’s jersey number is ten while Kuroo got eleven and Bokuto got twelve. Oikawa was thirteen. 

_ “What’s so funny?” They had asked Sawamura.  _

_ “I’ll tell you if we make it to the final round” he had said.  _

“Sawamura” Ushijima says in the locker room. Since they were playing Chuo and university’s summer break starts a week after high school’s, a lot of their former teammates would be coming to watch their captains play. It had become a popular thing with their former teammates, counting the days to the epic captain game, even though they’ve played together for the quarterfinals and semifinals. It’s probably because it’s  _ finals  _ that they’re so excited. This is the Tokyo qualifiers for the college national tournament. Chuo has one of the best, if not the best, volleyball team in the nation. If they beat them. . .

They are the best. 

What’s even better is that the five of them are starting. Their captain wasn’t going to play the starting rally, switching in with either Bokuto or Sawamura after the first break. It was probably the first time in any colleges history where most of the starting players were first years. 

_ “It’s a power move” the coach had said. “We’ll exchange some of you after a few points. But the five of you work superbly together. We will strike fear in them right from the start. We won’t give them a chance to beat us in a rally. This is our stadium, our court, our pride that we’re playing for. Now win me this game, boys _ .”

“Yes?” Sawamura replies. 

“When we received our jerseys, you laughed.”

“Yeah, that was pretty weird” Kuroo says, slinging an arm over Sawamura’s shoulders. “I mean, it’s cool that I got number eleven. I’m the captain of the double digits, one and one.” Sawamura rolls his eyes. 

“No, you are not the captain-captain, roosterhead.” Kuroo lets out a squawk. “Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Our first years at Karasuno had these numbers.”

“What about thirteen?” Oikawa quips. 

“I was never there when Karasuno had more than twelve players. We don’t leave numerical gaps.” Oikawa crosses his arms and pouts. “Meanie.” Sawamura rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway, Kuroo, you’ll be happy. Eleven was Tsukishima’s number.”

“TSUKKI!” Kuroo and Bokuto roar at the same time before high-fiving. (In the stadium, not even a minute walk from the locker room, Tsukishima sneezes from his position between Yamaguchi and his big brother, watching more and more people slowly fill up the seat of the area). 

“Yes” Sawamura smiles. “And twelve was our pinch server, Yamaguchi. He’s the freckled kid who was always hanging around Tsukishima.” Bokuto grins, punching Kuroo’s shoulder. 

“Even our jersey twins were best buds!”

“And number nine and ten” Sawamura says, turning to Ushijima. “Ten was the number of our Little Giants.”

“Karasuno’s number ten” Ushijima remembers. Then he frowns. “I greatly dislike him. His confidence was very-”

“Baseless, yeah yeah, we know.” Kuroo smirks. Ushijima’s frown twitches to an almost-smile. They know him well. 

“And number nine was Hinata’s setter, Kageyama” Sawamura continues. “The two of them made the freak quick possible.”

Ushijima thinks. Nine and ten. The setter and the spiker. They had worked very well together, he remembers. They had a friendly, competitive relationship. Like Shirabu and Eita. 

“You two work really good together” Oikawa notes “Especially with the weird dominant hand switches you guys do. If you guys, nine-ten, eleven-twelve, are pairs, then me. Thirteen. I’m the one who’s going to connect all of us as setter!” He ends proudly, putting his hands on Ushijima and Kuroo’s shoulders. “Lets go destroy our friends, eye?” Ushijima nods. He can already visualize Satori in the stands, shouting for both Chuo and Ushijima’s university, Teikoku. Knowing him, he might of made an outfit which was simply a Chuo and Teikoku shirt cut in half and sewn together. 

The older members of the team pat them on the back and tell them to do good as they walk out of the locker room and down a hallway. At the very end there is a set of doors and as they get closer and closer, the noise gets louder. They all increase from a walk to a jog, their captain leading the way. They hear the noise get louder and louder, talking and shouting and cheering for teams that haven’t even stepped on the court yet. 

“TEIKOKU!” They hear the announcer proclaim right when the first member of the team exits the hall and head to line up. Ushijima looks around the stadium. Unlike playing in a gym in high school, for college, it was like a  _ literal arena _ , like the sort they would only get on at nationals. Ushijima hears a collective shout that causes all five of them to look to the home side. 

“CAPTAIIIIIIIIIIIINS!” They hear them disjointedly shout. 

“AKAASSHI!” Bokuto shouts back, jumping up and down. Kuroo laughs and waves. Ushijima can’t help but smile. 

All of them are standing. Their clothing varies from person to person: Teikoku, Chuo, both (of course Tendou sewed two shirts together, he guessed it), and normal. He spots all of his old team, as well as his coaches (they’re probably calling this visit and educational visit to observe different playing styles). Even Coach Washijou was there, standing next to Nekoma’s captain. He’s confident most of Karasuno, Nekoma, and Fukurodani’s teams are there, the latter two because of how close the schools are to their university. There are also a lot of people he recognizes from Aoba Johsai. He see Karasuno’s Hinata jumping up and down, nearly tumbling over the railing, pointing at Sawamura before jumping around. He feels even more exhilarated with his team here. Sawamura puts a hand on Ushijima’s shoulder. 

“Ready?” The look on his face is warm and fond, the lights reflecting off his skin. Ushijima smiles. 

“Of course” he says. 

“HEY HEY HEY!” Bokuto shouts as the announcer introduces Chuo. 

“ASAHIIIIIIII!” Karasuno’s block of players shouts over the crowd and Ushijima sees one of Chuo’s player, a tall man with long brown hair tied up in a bun flinch. The camera even zooms in on him, showing the poor guy getting flustered and blushing, rubbing the back of his neck while his teammates tease him, before panning to the Karasuno block. There’s a boy with a lock of bleached hair who’s dressed in a Chuo shirt while wearing a Teikoku cape? And he’s waving two flags- oh. That’s horrid. It’s a drawing of who he assumes to be that Asahi and Sawamura. And he only knows that before he manages to read the characters for their names before the cameras switch. 

“I’m assuming you saw that” Sawamura sighs. 

“Oh yes, I’m taking a flag of you from my crow kouhai and I’m going to use it during practice matches” Kuroo grins, pointing back. Tsukishima lazily has a small flag raised, not even waving it, while professor Akiteru has Teikoku’s colors painted across his face and he has a handful of flags, frantically waving all of them. Ushijima sees that there’s more flags with the horrid drawings being passed around and waved, yen coins exchanged in the process. Why would someone want to buy them? 

“Well would you look at that, Nekoma made some of you” Oikawa grins. 

“And so did Seijoh.”

“Wait, did all of our teams become friends and make flags with horrible drawings of us?”

“I think so.”

“We should teach them about fraternizing with the enemy.” Ushijima notices that Goshiki is standing next to the orange haired Karasuno child. Both of them have twin looks of excitement on their faces. He believes they became acquainted at the selective rookie training camp held at Shiratorizawa after the spring interhigh qualifiers. 

The captain comes back, smiling that they’re serving first. Then he looks at Sawamura. 

They know what to do. 

“Introducing the starting players for Teikoku!” The announcer shouts. “Incredibly, five of them are first years!” As the announcer introduces them, they head to their position on court. “Ushijima Wakatoshi, number nine, wing spiker. Sawamura Daichi, number ten, wing spiker. Kuroo Tetsurou, number eleven, middle blocker. Bokuto Koutarou, number twelve, wing spiker. Oikawa Tooru, number thirteen, setter.” Their libero comes out last. The rotation has Sawamura starting with the serve. He bounces the ball. 

_ “I’ll use it this game” he had said in the pre-game warm-up. “Captain wants us to start with putting fear in them.  _

He holds the ball. 

_ “Flick your wrist more.” He takes Sawamura’s hand in his. Sawamura trusts him to show him the right way. It’s just the two of them on the practice court tonight. He gently adjusts the angle of his wrist and the alignment of his fingers “And then move it like this. It will add a certain spin on the ball that makes it much more difficult to receive. A simple thing, but effective.” _

Ushijima relaxes. He knows that this first point is easily going to be theirs, even with a serve that hasn’t seen the light outside of the practice courts.

_ “What’s this book?” Sawamura had asked, sitting on Ushijima’s bed, pointing to the book Satori had leant him.  _

_ “I never understood crushes” Ushijima had said honestly. “Satori leant it to me in hopes that I will know if I develop one.” Sawamura had smiled.  _

_ “And have yo-” but then the smoke alarm went off and they both know Oikawa had tried to bake milk bread. Again.  _

He’s happy he’s in the back row, on the other side of the libero. He can see Sawamura serve and no matter how much he sees this one, it’s not an ordinary jump serve. It’s something beautiful and unique. A mix between what Ushijima taught him and what Sawamura modified to fit him better. 

_ “Sawamura” Ushijima asked. “Why haven’t you used that serve in any of our official matches?” Sawamura landed on his feet.  _

_ “I’m waiting for a special moment. When it’s not just going to be another serve for another point” he said. “I love this serve. I’m really happy you taught it to me Wa- Ushijima.” For once, Ushijima had really hoped that he had used his first name.  _

Sawamura tosses the ball up and runs. The audience becomes quieter as they see it’s a jump serve, conversation soft and distanced. As he bends, he looks like he’s flying. He really did learn to fly. 

The positioning screams he’s going to hit righty. Chuo’s libero does a quick step, moving a little and into the area the ball would probably go had his guess been correct.

_ “You’re doing it wrong, Dai-chan!” Oikawa had tutted, taking the ball. “If you want to make the opponent  _ think  _ your going to do something, you have to make it believable. This is what you do _ .”

The opposing team moves slightly, getting ready to receive what will probably be a very powerful right handed jump serve. 

They’re right about two things:

  1. Jump serve
  2. Very powerful



Ushijima remembers a game he once observed at Shiratorizawa. He had tried playing but he had been, and still is, very bad at lying. Two truths and a lie. Satori had introduced it after watching a subbed American cartoon clip his cousin had sent him. Sawamura was quite literally playing two truths and a lie with his jump serve. The type of serve and the power it will have are the truths, which the opponent guessed. But it seems as if they think all three are a truth. They aren’t playing the same game Teikoku is playing. 

Sawamura twists in the air, the subtle movement shifting his weight and quickly shiting his position in less than a second,just like the gymnasts Ushijima saw on TV in the last Olympics, subtly adjusting muscles and redistributing their weight to do complicated twists and flips. Ushijima wouldn’t of caught it had he not been watching and adjusting Sawamura’s serve for weeks now. A whole term. His left hand swings forward and hits the ball, powerful and fast. It flies over the net right towards the gap between two spikers, but the spin it has curves it in the air. The player who dives for it doesn’t even touch it before it slams a centimeter from the edge of the court. A whistle is blown and the flags are pointed at the court. 

No-touch ace. 

Silence. 

And then screams of excitement. Ushijima savors the fear in the opponents eyes. 

“Was that good, Ushijima?”

“Maybe not enough spin” Ushijima says. “But excellent form.”

“You made a joke!” Bokuto cackles. A ballboy at the side of the court tosses Sawamura another ball. The yellow and blue look like they belong in his hands. 

“ONE MORE!” Their captain shouts from the side. Now the element of surprise is gone. Sawamura does another jump serve, using his left hand, no tricks behind this one. The other team’s libero is smart. He sees the curve and he manages to graze the ball before it flies off court. Two points. Sawamura goes for another serve, except this time, he uses his right hand. It’s closer to the net and one of the spikers just manages to dive and receive it, palm flat against the court. It reaches their setter and the Aoba Johsai alumni, the one with light pink hair, goes to spike it but Kuroo and Bokuto manage a successful two-person block. 

Three points. 

The game goes on and Chuo gets the next point. The score is 9-3 and Bokuto is exchanged for their captain. Ushijima is switched out once, Oikawa and their other setter switching out often, switching up patterns and techniques. It’s fun, seeing Reon smile challengingly at him from the other side of the net as Ushijima jumps up to block one of his spikes. If there’s one thing Ushijima has learned, it’s that the team doesn’t revolve around him, not like at Shiratorizawa. He’s not the only offensive power. He has to play both. And their team is good as both. The only problem is the opponent. If there’s anything Chuo is known for, it’s their incredible offense. Teikoku still gets the first set, 25-19. 

The next set brings Chuo closer, a deuce, 28-26, but Teikoku still gets the set. 

The third set is Chuo’s, 26-24. 

And so if the fourth. 

“Alright team” The captain brings them in for a huddle. “It was inevitable that we would play five sets. This is chuo we’re talking about. Oikawa, you’re serving. Use that monster serve of yours. We’re getting our other setter out so we have two at once for some more complicated plays. Kuroo, we’re going to match you up with man manbun. Sawamura, focus on defense and play decoy.” Sawamura nods and looks at Ushijima, mouthing the word  _ ten  _ with a small smirk on his face, shining with sweat and the light that shines on them. Ten. . .ah, right. That orange over excited one-meter tall middle blocker toddler-child played decoy. 

They get back on the court. Ushijima is sweating at this point, all of them are, but they aren’t going to loose. No, not to Chuo. They will win and then they will go to the national summer collegiate tournament in the third week out August, a little more than a week away. 

They put in their all. 

Oikawa serves, putting in so much power, getting two points in before the other team makes the third serve into a chance ball. Each side gains and misses points. But they’re all smiling between points as they get back in position. 

This. . .this is fun. 

They all go in for a synchronized attack, nobody backing them. Defenseless. Oikawa sets the ball. Ushijima is next to Sawamura. Ushijima pulls out  _ his  _ secret attack now. All game, he played with his left hand. 

He spikes the ball straight down with his right hand with perfect precision, their team breaking into the twenties. 

“My form was good.” Ushijima says. Sawamura shrugs. 

“Adequate.”

They win. And Oikawa, Ushijima always knew the man was a trickster. He doesn’t do anything impressive. A setter dump feint. Ushijima honestly thought he was going to set it. But he doesn’t. Just how it’s meant to be. After this, Teikokou is probably going to be known for their sly offensive techniques. 

It falls so slowly. It’s painful to watch. 

One whistle. Two. It holds out, the noise downed by the screams and cheers around them. He feels a drop of sweat fall from his nose and he pushes his sweat slicked hair back. 

“WE DID IT!” Bokuto shouts and he’s tackling Kuroo. The reserve players come from the side and the cameras pan to their team’s celebration while Chuo comforts each other. Sawamura says something to the tall spiker, Azumane, and they shake hands blow the net before Sawamura sees Ushijima. 

“We won!” Sawamura proclaims. 

“We won.” Ushijima says. 

“You’re smiling!” Sawamura points. Ushijima’s smile widens and he becomes, strangely, shy. Satori did say he should smile more, though. Said it was a nice smile when it wasn’t the weird creepily intense one he sometimes gets at tense moments in a game. Maybe it would help win Sawamura over. 

“I am indeed smiling.” He agrees and Sawamura’s running at him and he jumps, not as high as his beautiful flights but just as graceful, or even more so because this is Sawamura. He’s not doing this with the intent of pulling off an amazing jump serve. This is a normal human action. This is Sawamura, getting closer to him. Ushijima raises his arms to catch him. Sawamura shouts in glee, wrapping his legs around Ushijima’s waist and putting a hand on his shoulder, his other hand punching the air. Ushijima instinctively wraps his arms around him, holding him close. Sawamura looks down at him, his hand lowering, and he smiles. 

He loves that smile. 

Sawamura hugs him, resting his head on his shoulder. 

“That was awesome” Sawamura whispers against his ear, somehow louder than the cheers around them. 

“What if I hadn’t caught you? Both of us would of fallen.” Ushijima smiles. Sawamura shakes his head. 

“You wouldn’t of. I know because I trust you.” Ushijima holds him closer, adjusting him so that he can see what’s going around him. 

“I trust you as well.”

Kuroo and Bokuto are still hugging and Oikawa has joined in. Kuroo, though, is looking at Ushijima with a knowing look on his face.  _ Of course _ . And then the middle blocker beckons him over. 

“OI, Sawamura! How come YOU get to be carried?”

“I’m Ushijima’s favorite!” Sawamura shouts back, raising his head from Ushijima’s shoulder. “Take me there!”

“We have to line up.” Ushijima says. 

“No” Sawamura says. “First we go there.” Ushijima chuckles and takes the spiker to the rest of the first years. 

“Our number nine and ten” Oikawa grins. “Is there anything you haven’t told us?” Kuroo glares at the setter and Ushijima shakes his head. Sawamura pats his back before uncurling his legs, jumping down, high-fiving the rest of his teammates. He can still feel the warmth of his arms around him, his legs holding them close. 

They shake hands with the other team. The two Aoba Johsai alumni wink at Ushijima, scratching the inside of his palm as they shake hands. Azumane is even shakier and nervous up close, even though he looks confident and nigh unshakable and undefeatable on the court. They get their awards, some pictures are taken, and then the people start getting up.

“Satori and Goshiki are very interested in meeting you.” Ushijima says, approaching his number ten. “I told them I’ve been teaching you to play lefty and the two of them have been interested in your progress.” Sawamura grins. 

“I’ll be glad to. My team also wants to meet you and everyone else. They don’t really believe that I’m friends with you, all though I’d like to think that what we did earlier is evidence enough that we’re pretty close.”

“I think we’re close.” Ushijima agrees. Sawamura turns his head to look at the other three. 

“HEY! OIKAWA! KUROO! BOKUTO! KARASUNO WANTS TO SEE YOU GUYS!” He shouts. The three look at him and then come running over, Oikawa skidding to a halt next to Ushijima, letting out a short laugh at the few centimeters he slides. 

“Lets show them how buddy-buddy we are” the setter winks, nudging him. Ushijima feels bubbly inside. The thought of reuniting with his old team, it’s even more exhilarating than winning the game. 

“I accept.” He says

“HEY, LOCKER ROOMS FIRST!” Their captain shouts and the five first-years  _ run _ , making their other teammates laugh. They race to their lockers, which are already unlocked, and they strip, take a ten second shower to get most of the sweat off, five seconds for toweling down (So this is what that damp, badly dried feeling Satori always describes actually feels like) before quickly changing into their team tracksuits in case there are any photographers around, shoving phones and wallets into pockets. Ushijima experiences stumbling over his own feet for the first time, knocking legs and elbows, before the five of them are ready to go, Bokuto carrying Oikawa on his back since he complained that his knee is starting to hurt. Then Kuroo says that it’s actually to make Iwa-chan jealous. 

They race down a different hallway. It’s brighter than the one that leads onto the court and they move faster. It’s exciting. This is something new. It feels so very good. Sawamura’s shoulder grazes his arm and Kuroo’s shoulder knocks into his own. 

Bokuto charges the door with Oikawa holding his arms out to push it open, positioned as if he was going to horizontally set the door open. The noise, just like before, grows louder and louder and then Oikawa opens them. Releases them and lets them meet the cats and crows, eagles and owls that await their exit. 

“HEY HEY HEY!” Bokuto screams and a chorus of people scream back “HEY HEY HEY!” At a louder volume with numerous voice cracks, obviously unused to screaming the words louder than Bokuto. 


	4. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unintentional gathering  
> Future foreshadowing  
> And Daichi gets interrogated by the Ushijima Protection Squad™

According to Kuroo, the benefit of the dorm floors being so small is the fact that there’s only one hall and about five people, more or less, per floor. And with the kitchen, laundry closet, bathroom, and amazing ground floor the university has provided them with, the whole floor is basically a large apartment. And the main benefit is not having to worry about neighbors when they party. 

The five of them coral just about all of Shiratorizawa, Karasuno, Nekoma, and Aoba Johsai to their floor, somehow fitting the thirty-some people. There are some faces unfamiliar to all five of them and those people can only be the new first years. With the permission of Chuo’s coaches, the four college first-years were able to join them. 

They stopped by some stores on the way back, everyone pinching in to get food. They mainly stick with their former teams on the walk and it’s so nostalgic. Ushijima felt proud when Goshiki walked ahead of him, saying how  _ he’ll  _ lead the way. And then he let Ushijima go ahead of them at the next intersection causing the rest of the team to laugh. It was nice to catch up with Reon, Eita, and Satori in person rather than on the phone with the distance of cities separating them.

All of their excitable former teammates raced up the stairs. The five took the elevator while others either waited for it to come back down or walked up the stairs. 

Ushijima had taken any cooking material and retreated to the kitchen, away from the bustling noise that comes from numerous high school volleyball teams being stuffed together is the same area; quickly heating up pans, boiling water, and throwing noodles and rice and oil, food starting to cook within one minute of entering the kitchen. The floor gets crowded quickly with the thirty or so people that are being crammed in. They have to leave their room doors open for people to sit in there and the hallway. 

“So” Satori says, sitting on the counter, helping chop vegetables. He’s swinging his legs, somehow managing to keep the chopping board steady on his thighs and the vegetables from falling about about a meter to their doom. “What was that that I saw with you and number ten, hmm?”

“YEAH WHAT WAS THAT?” Hinata shrieks. “I’M SO CONFUSED! HE SAID YOU WERE FRIENDS BUT HOW ARE YOU FRIENDS!” Ushijima sends him a deadpan look. That child. . .is very annoying. He doesn’t know how Sawamura is able to tolerate him. 

“Sawamura is a very enjoyable person to be around” Ushijima says. “I assume I’ll have to try and get along with you now as well. Oikawa told me your name is” he pretends to be in thought. “Chibi-chan?” Hinata’s eye twitches and then he turns around. 

“DAICHI-SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN” he wails, running out of the kitchen. Satori laughs. Ushijima smiles. That was a very amusing thing he just witnessed. 

“These guys have been rubbing off on you” Satori says, now that it’s just the two of them in the kitchen. Ushijiam takes the vegetables and tosses them onto a pan, putting some salt on them. They start sizzling with the small amount of oil Ushijima spread on the metal before hand. Satori sighs. “Smells so  _ good _ .”

“There’s some hot chocolate in the fridge I made for my final yesterday” Ushijima says. “It’s spiced. Pour yourself a cup and heat it up.” He continues stirring the vegetables and turning the noodles while his friend gets his hot chocolate ready, chattering about how his apprenticeship applications are going and that he’s been visiting Shiratorizawa quite often. They have practice matches with Karasuno too now. 

“Remember how Shirabu’s the captain now? Yeah, he and Karasuno’s, the mini Sawamura-”

“Sawamura told me his name is Ennoshita.”

“Ennoshita! Yes! Well, they’ve become  _ really _ close.” Satori takes a peek at the microwave timer and sighs, lips curling up even more. “They’re also ridiculously smart so I have a bet going on that they meet outside of practice for dull things like study groups.” He shudders in faux disgust just as the microwave beeps. “Anyway, how has your relationship with Crow Captain been going?” He jumps off the countertop again and goes to retrieve his promised drink. “He’s popular with the other teams from what I’ve heard.”

“That isn’t surprising” Ushijima says. Satori snickers. “Our relationship has been the same. Although, we did incidentally sleep together, as you saw the photo, but Sawamura has yet to address it.” He feels Satori hug him, noticing how much that one moment of ignorance affected him. “As you saw, he’s…” Ushijima struggles to find the word. He usually doesn’t praise people so extensively. Straight to the point is how he prefers to be. But using a simple world wouldn’t cleary communicate his thoughts. 

“Stunning.”

Satori pulls away and to the side, looking up at Ushijima from a strange angle. “Tch- Of course you’d use a word like that” Satori says, taking the rice from the stove and taking it to the sink to strain the noodles. 

“It is accurate.” Ushijima defends. He beef and pork from one of the bags and cooks it on two pans at a time, separating the types from each other. Satori takes care of the vegetables and starts on a broth with the liquids that has started to seep from the cooking meat. 

“Does anyone else know?” Satori asks. 

“Kuroo and Bokuto. They had a bet going on about it. I assume Oikawa knows as well. His observation skills do not apply only to the court.”

“Do you have a plan? On making a move on him?” Satori’s eyes are shining, the same look he gets when he’s about to point out a particularly important observation he’s made while reading the newest issue of Jump. 

“After one week, we have nationals tournament. Depending on how that goes, we will be playing for, at most, three days. That will leave us with about three weeks before break ends and the second term begins. I will be going to my father’s house then.”

“ _ Aaaand _ ?” Satori waves. “Reon and I have come with you to the land of eagles for the past three years. Your pops is probably sick of my face and I have a nice trip planned. You should probably tell your dad you need five tickets. Then you can show off your english skills and treat Sawamura to a romantic night in another country.” He slings an arm across Ushijima’s shoulders. “You gotta  _ woo  _ him, Wakatoshi. Woo. Him.” He pokes his shoulder after each word. Ushijima raises an eyebrow. 

“Woo?”

Thankfully, Satori is distracted by a particularly loud noise that sounds like “SHITTYKAWA!” It’s their only warning before Oikawa is barreling into the kitchen, plucking the meat tongs from Ushijima’s hands before holding it at an enraged Iwaizumi Hazumi who has glitter in his hair, and on his face and hands probably in an attempt to wipe it off. 

“Toshi-chan, help me!” Oikawa screams. Now that Iwaizumi is in the kitchen and he had just been talking about California with Satori, a light bulb goes off in his head.

“Iwaizumi” Ushijima asks “You began an exchange program in California last month. I heard you were doing very well.” Iwaizumi huffs, becoming a bit less feral. 

“Yeah. And for some reason I decided to actually come back to Japan to watch a game and get glitter stuck in my hair because of  _ Trashykawa _ -” He needs to diffuse the situation, fast. 

_ “The thing about lying” Oikawa had told him once after pointing out how bad he was at lying “Is that there should be some truth. I shouldn’t be a complete lie, just a modification of the truth. _ ”

“My father says you talk about Oikawa quite often.” Both Oikawa and Iwaizumi freeze. 

“The hell” Iwaizumi mutters. 

“My father, Takashi Utsui” Ushijima says. “You have been interning under him as part of your education.” Iwaizumi blinks. And scratches his head. 

“You’re. . .his son” he slowly says. “The ‘Toshito’ he always goes on about.” He covers his face with his hands. “Oh my gods” his voice comes out muffled. The exposed parts of his cheeks and the sides of his neck are flushed red. “I saw your baby photos. I called you  _ cute _ .”

“I wanna see baby photos” Oikawa whines, setting the tongs down. Ushijima quickly takes the utensil and moves the meat in the quickly filling large bowl before putting the last of the meat on the pans. 

“Oikawa” Ushijima says “I spend most of summer break with my father. He always pays for any friends I would like to bring. Would you like to accompany me this year? You will be able to spend time with Iwaizumi and I plan on inviting Kuroo, Bokuto, and Sawamura as we-”

“YES!” Oikawa exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’m guessing we leave after nationals? All right! Come on Iwa-chan, lets go ask my roomies.” And he drags his childhood friends out of the kitchen. Ushijima blinks, once again astounded by how quickly Oikawa can think and do, well, anything. He looks at the cooking meat, the simplicity of it acting like a soothing balm to his brain.

“Well, you’ll have a better chance now.” Satori says. “Those two love birds will be with each other, your guys’s number eleven and twelve seem close, which leaves you and Sawamura with each other.” Ushijima nods. He turns the stove off. There’s a large amount of rice, noodles, vegetables, and meat. As long as everyone doesn’t take too much and eats more of the other pre-cooked foods that were bought, they’ll be fine. He uses a stray piece of paper napkin to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck before dropping it into the small dustbin on the countertop. He lifts the hum of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Satori lets out a low whistle. 

“Need help with the food?” Sawamura asks. Ushijima quickly lets go of the cloth, straightening up. The state of Sawamura’s cheeks are similar to how Iwaizumi’s had been like. Behind Sawamura is a boy who Ushijima recognizes as Akaashi from Bokuto’s many,  _ many  _ photos- both on his phone, stored online, and in his wallet. He can hear Bokuto shouting in the distance asking where the third year is. 

“Take the food out of the bags.” He says. Akaashi and Sawamura work together while Satori gets disposable plates, glasses, chopsticks, and napkins out. As if they could smell the food over the people on the floor, people file into the kitchen-living room area. Karasuno and Seijoh give Ushijima weird looks but they gratefully accept the food, muttering their thanks at loud volumes upon noticing their current and former captains’ looks. 

“Sawamura” Ushijima asks, remembering the proposal he had made to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “I go to my father’s for part of summer break every year. He always asks me to bring any of my friends over. I have decided to invite the four of you. Oikawa has already accepted my invitation. All expenses will be paid. Would you like to come?” Sawamura blinks. He cracks a smile. 

“That’s a lot of words, for you.” Satori cackles and starts slinking over to where the Shiratorizawa platers have grouped up. “I’m guessing it’s after nationals?”

“Yes. The return date is two days before the new term in order to appropriately overcome jetlag. A little over three weeks. Is that satisfactory?” Sawamura nods. 

“Then why not? It’ll give me more time to spend with you guys, even though I don’t really need it, I guess. Exploring a foreign city will give me a reason to get away from Kuroo and Oikawa though…” 

“HEY!” They hear Bokuto shout. “After we all eat, we should have, like, a mini tournament!”

“Bokuto-san, you just played Chuo.”

“And beat us. I’m don’t think my legs are ready for mo-”

“I know! But I’m not really tired. And all of the gangs are here!”

“Hell yeah! When will we get a chance like this ever again!?”

“Yamamoto-san…”

“VOLLEYBALL!” Hinata shouts. 

“Ball?” Kageyama’s voice comes, head suddenly poking above the sea of heads. “Hinata-boke: don’t shout indoors.” 

“Who’re you calling boke!?”

Sawamura’s gaze has turned to the arguing teens crowded in the living room. Karasuno’s libero has somehow managed to scale the stacked washer and dryer. Chuo’s long-haired spiker looks at him with a look of, somehow, fondness and horror. Goshiki is bouncing on his feet, the look on his face identical to be other second years (he guesses) around him. The new faces also look excited. Sawamura looks fond. And then there’s a look in his eyes. His gaze has focused on the blond with glasses. 

“Tsukishima” Sawamura calls, like a general calling out an order. His voice carries over and all chatter ceases, attention snapping to Sawamura who is now leaning against the countertop. His relaxed position does not take away from the situation. “What do you think about playing some rounds? Think logically.” Bokuto’s grin grows larger and larger, only helping to make his face look more avian. The only thing keeping him from pouncing on Tsukishima is Akaashi’s hand tightly clamped around his forearm. The same look can be seen on Kuroo’s face, although there is a wall of Nekoma players blocking him off. 

Tsukishima pushes his glasses up with his ring finger, looking down as he thinks. “I’m not sure” he says. “We do have six teams, a tournament system will have to be slightly modified, or we can split teams further into half. But there is also the question of a referee. Having any of us would simply be biased.”

“Tsukki” Yamaguchi says with a small pout. Ushijima has observed that while the blond was talking, Sawamura had been occasionally raising eyebrows and nodding at Oikawa, who, in turn, had been doing the same with Kuroo. When the blond finished talking, the setter puts a grin on his face. 

“Division of teams will be easy! We can easily do it based off of the team number you had last year with us captains current number. So you, Salty-kun, were number eleven. So you and Tetsu-kun would be on the same team!” A look of horror draws on Tsukishima’s face. Karasuno and Nekoma laughs. Sawamura’s eye twitches. The silent communication clearly didn’t work. 

“I have a better idea” Sawamura says. “Doing it by jersey number might have a team with half of them being setters or something. Maybe we can get someone who is unbiased and will take a systematic approach to this. He is very helpful. He can also act as a medic in emergency situations.”

For once in his life, Ushijima has to fight to keep a straight face. 

Tsukishima’s eyes narrow and widen. 

“No” he nearly gasps. 

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi chirps. 

“OH YES!” Bokuto says. “I can run over right now? His office hours are today! I bet he got there right after the game.”

“Who are we talking about?” Kuroo says. “Oh who ever is going to be our saviour?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically. Kenma elbows him. 

“Just our calculus professor” Sawamura innocently says. “Don’t you remember professor Tsukishima Akiteru?” He finishes and Ushijima can’t help the small smile that forms upon seeing the utter panic on the blond’s face. As well as the collective shock on quite a most of the players gathered.  _ They must of become close. Or because they recognize the name _ . 

“AKITERU-SENSEI!?” Goshiki exclaims. “I’VE HEARD OF THAT DUDE! TENDOU-SENPAI TOLD ME THAT USHIJIMA-SENPAI TOLD HIM THASGKDJ” He’s cut of by Shirabu’s hand clamping over his mouth. Karasuno and Nekoma flock Tsukishima, squawking him about why he never told them that his brother wasn’t at the game to support Tsukishima supporting his former ex-captain nd ex-teammates but to support  _ said  _ ex-captain and ex-teammates. 

“You should come to Teikoku, Tsukishima” Ushijima says. “You’re brother’s calculus class is excellent.” Oikawa laughs. Tsukishima excuses himself for the restroom and soon the whole room is cackling. Yamaguchi follows after his best friend, but not before nearly fainting from uncontrollable laughter. Akaashi goes with Bokuto to get Akiteru and fifteen minutes later, everyone is greeting the tall blond, the Karasuno team calling him “sensei” with matching gleams in their eyes. 

After giving the elder Tsukishima some food (him and his brother couldn’t be more different but there is still a closeness between them) and coaxing the younger brother from where he has hidden, they all head to the team’s practice court. 

Conveniently, they all had their volleyball equipment. 

“Were they somehow aware that they would be playing with us?” Ushijima asks himself with a frown. 

“They were here for a training camp” Sawamura says “according to Ennoshita. They told none of us. Apparently they had planned to watch our game together so the schools from Miyagi decided they didn’t want to waste the long ride just for a game. And they wanted to keep being here a secret.” Ushijima meets Sawamura’s eyes. 

“You knew.” Ushijma states. “I am assuming it was the orange one?”

“Hinata, yeah.” Sawamura grins. “He can’t keep a secret. And he calls me just about every night, along with everyone else on my team. It’s like I’m the anonymous penpal they can spill all their secrets too.” Ushijima has no clue what a penpal is but he nods along. Sawamura is a good thing to trust one’s secrets with- he’s a trustworthy, honest person who also gives good advice. 

Perhaps he can even ask Sawamura about some things that have been on his mind. “You have no idea how many times Tsukishima has called me  _ just  _ to ask how I survived dealing with Nishinoya and Tanaka.” Ushijima hums. 

“So they are just as troublesome off the court as they are on the court?”

“I don’t know whether that is a compliment or an insult.”

“Consider it both.”

“You know” Sawamura muses “you’re jokes are actually really good.”

“I am under the belief that some people think I don’t have the capability to joke.” Ushijima says. He’s happy that Sawamura likes his jokes. He has laughed at them numerous times this term. They have a similar sense of humor, he’s discovered. 

They hear Oikawa squeak. They turn their heads just in time to see Oikawa’s arms flail before he falls, disappearing in the sea of chattering people, no one giving him a second look. “Did Oikawa ice his knee properly after the game?” Sawamura nods, eyebrows raised slightly with amusement before turning his gaze away from where Oikawa was last spotted to turn his attention back to Ushijima.

“Iwaizumi watched him the whole time. I’m thinking one-set games so we can move along fa-”

“No.” Ushijima says. “We will be able to play the appropriate number of sets for a highschool game. Our former teams are here to improve- we cannot keep them away from playing to their fullest potential because we are tired.” Sawamura gives him a withering look. “It will also be good endurance training.” Sawamura then makes a show of getting out his phone and showing him the screen with the time blinking across it in white numbers. 

“Three hours” he says, exasperated. “Barely three hours since our game ended. And for most of that we were walking, buying food, and then you were cooking the food.” Ushijima blinks. 

“I find all of that relaxing.” Sawamura’s glare turns into something soft and undefinable. 

“And I find volleyball relaxing too.” Sawamura looks at the crowd of people smushed together on couches, the floor, on the coffee table. Oh- Nekoma’s former libero has joined Karasuno’s on the washing machine. Nekoma’s former libero kicks his leg out and nocks down the tall, lanky, pale haired boy who was trying to approach him. He has the same fait as Oikawa, who still hasn’t emerged above the sea of heads. Sawamura scrunches his nose. “I’ll clean. You help the other three get everyone to the gym. If it was just those three, they’ll somehow get “lost” and buy the bakery out of its milk bread. They need someone serious with them. And I don’t trust any of them to do that.”

“Hey I heard that!” Kuroo calls. Someone from Nekoma makes a quip and soon another conversation/argument has begun. 

“Go” Sawamura pushes, pressing a hand against Ushijima’s left shoulderblade.

“As you wish.” 

Ushijima exits the kitchen and looks at the people gathered on the floor. There’s no place large enough to fit his feet to move past them. All he could do was think of the wisest way to get past all of them. Conveniently, it’s the volleyball addicts who are at his feet. Three of them he recognizes (Goshiki, “chibi-chan”, and the setter who “chibi-chan” clings to). There’s also the spiker who had been knocked down by Nekoma’s libero. He has the cat-like look that seems to be mandatory to apply for the Nekoma volleyball club. The others he doesn’t recognize. 

“AH! JAPAN!” Hinata exclaims, flinching into the grumpy looking setter next to him. The rest of the group look up at him. 

“Ushijima-senpai!” Goshiki exclaims. 

“We’re going to the practice court” Ushijima says. “For volleyball. Grab your stuff.” They all brighten and jump onto their feet, although the setter looks at Ushijima strangely before getting pulled away by Hinata. The green-eyed Nekoma member stumbles onto his feet. He’s tall. Taller than Ushijima. Coach Washijou would of liked to have him on his team. It is very unnerving since he now seems more like an enthusiastic puppy, matching Hinata in terms of excitement. Ushijima then remembers seeing him at the Nationals for the Fall Interhigh. But back then he had remained on the bench. That means he must be a second year now, then. He’ll grow even more. Hopefully his skill matches his height, as he hadn’t displayed them when Ushijima had watched Nekoma’s matches. 

The rest of the room stands, leaving behind plates, chopsticks, and napkins. Even his own team! He mentally tuts. Sawamura is going to have to clean all of this now since he volunteered. Is that why he made a face a few minutes ago? And he can’t stay behind to help him since he was told to ensure Bokuto, Kuroo, and Oikawa don’t take the five teams somewhere other than the court. At least Fukurodani seems somewhat collected- nope, they’re just trying to keep Bokuto from running out before everyone else is ready. 

* * *

Daichi sighs in relief. The temperature has decreased now that all the bodies are no longer mashed together. Instead of a sea of boys there is now a sea of trash. Once all the fish in the see are gone, only the trash that humans threw remain to be fished. He saw Asahi and Koushi getting carried away by the mob so it’s just him. He thinks he saw Akaashi and Kenma through away their trash, though. He opens a trash bag and slides on a pair of gloves that were bought after a particular incident in the bathroom which included a “borrowed” vial of a few grams of caesium. Which were then dropped in the toilet. 

“Allow us to help.” Daichi looks up and smiles with relief. He recognizes them as three Shiratorizawa graduates.. 

“Thank you.” He says. “You three are” he quickly tries to remember moments he and Ushijima sat next to each other and they’d show each other photos both funny and normal of their teammates. Volleyball was basically the main focus of both of their lives. “Reon, Eita, Kenjirou, and Satori?” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry I don’t know any of your last names. Ushijima only calls you by your first names.” Satori tilts his head. 

“Oh?”

“He shows me pictures. He thinks highly of all four of you. Although I wonder why at times.” Reon lets out a laugh. 

“I like you. Good sense of humor.” He looks at the other three. “He’s got my approval. I will clean the kitchen, Sawamura.”

“Oh, call me Daichi.” He insists. Satori gives him a grin that he’s sure he’s seen on Tanaka as well. 

“But Wakatoshi-kun always refers to you as Sawamura.” Daichi shrugs. 

“He’s like Kuroo. They prefer to call me by my family name.” He bends down and starts gathering the trash. “I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that it’s you four who decided to stay behind?”

“What are your intentions with our captain?” Kenjirou suddenly asks. Eita slaps his arm. 

“Don’t be too forward!” Eita then hits him on the shoulder. Daichi furrows his brow. 

“I consider Ushijima to be a good friend of mine” he says, mildly amused by these three. Now he has a good feeling why it was these four who stayed behind and why Reon said what he said earlier. “And I don’t have any weird intentions, like trying to befriend him only so that he could help me out in volleyball. The only think I want from him is for him to be happy, I guess.” And then he continues cleaning. He’s happy that none of the food is half eaten, all plates clean except for crumbs and traces of liquids and sauces. 

“Anyway, as a good friend” Daichi continues with a grin “Tell me all the embarrassing things Ushijima  _ must  _ of done at Shiratorizawa. I don’t think accidentally stealing and turning in Reon’s worksheet is the worst thing he’s done.” Satori does a weird backbend-twist thing to look at Daichi and he’s proud to say that he is slightly  _ less  _ unnerved by the former middle blocker. He mentally makes a very long list of people to keep Satori away from (all of Karasuno) and also people he shouldn’t be on the same team as (Kuroo. And Tsukki. Their combined genius in the position would destroy anyone they face. And their personalities would create a reaction worst than the one the caesium made. Those three are probably Dateko’s dream team). 

“Oh! So, once I taped a ‘free hugs’ sign to his back. . .”

The next twenty minutes are very enjoyable. Eita and Shirabu input their own pieces of information they gathered about Ushijima. Once Reon returns from the kitchen, Daichi gets a wider variety of Ushijima short stories. In return, he also tells his share. He regales tales of Ushijima and his awesome hot chocolate making skills, putting an incredible amount of chilli powder in Kuroo’s drink the last time he switched it with the salt. How Oikawa had made a script version of an excerpt from  _ The Tale of Genji _ , had them memorize their parts, borrow clothes from the performing arts department, and then act it out in the “living room” with a camera set on a tripod to record the whole thing and then submit to his professor. It is a blessing that Ushijima never wished to pursue acting: he wouldn’t of made it far. Daichi promises to send them copies of the performance, which they have a CD of stored on the rack below the television. It is a group favorite when they all want a good laugh. 

Once they finish cleaning at long last, they grab their stuff, exchange numbers, and Daichi locks the doors behind him. 

Wakatoshi has some nice friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's also a part 2 to _Honesty_ , which I separated from this chapter for two reasons. And no, it's not because it doesn't have to do with honesty. It's because 1) I wanted to shorten the chapter. 2) it's kind of cringe-y (talk-show) sooo. . .I decided I'll edit and post it in all of it's strangeness


	5. Honesty - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things that can happen after winning a game, especially one as important as the finals to the Japanese National Summer Collegiate Tournament. Celebration is one of them. Relaxing is another. Food is always welcome. Sitting down at the studio for a talk show broadcasting across the country and the world while sitting down next to his crush is quite unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _very_ self indulgent chapter. It doesn't really affect the plot or anything. It's just a little fun thing I decided to write because I wanted to give the boys some more attention and sudden popularity :D

Last year, when they were in their third year, high school and college volleyball suddenly became popular to watch. In the high school world, it was because the power schools were suddenly whispering names of a school that could defeat them. Usually, in Nationals, the same set of schools go. Fukurodani, Nekoma, Inarizaki, Itachiyama, Shiratorizawa. The schools with the top five of each positions. But then, all of a sudden, the number three ace in the country didn’t make it to Tokyo. Instead, there was a team of black and orange, a murder bent on picking apart all of their opponents and leaving them behind just like Shiratorizawa who, in the first time in at least six years, didn’t make it to the national stage. 

Even to those not interested in volleyball they hear things. Things that perk their interest and make them turn to the closest TV in hopes that whatever they’ll catch on the screen would be related to what they just heard. Rumours of another deadly Little Giant. A boy with eyes as cold as the moon who was the first to bring down one the great ace of Miyagi. A twenty-five year old drug dealer with an arm that bursts through blocks. A national level setter who sets with the precision of pushing a string through the eye of a needle. A captain who leads them all with confidence and let them fly. 

It was a surprise that they made it so far in the tournament. Nekoma sang their praise to the former flightless crows. Fukurodani slung their arms around different crows before their first match. Inarizaki’s setter had an obvious interest with their first years. 

So they want to see what will happen after. For most teams, the captain stands out in some way. Nekoma’s superb read-blocking, Fukurodani’s deadly spikes, Shiratorizawa’s lefty serves and spikes, Karasuno’s receives that are always at the right places at the right time. And then there’s also the social media trendy captain of the team who trades blows with Shiratorizawa and Karasuno, Aoba Johsai. They never made it to Nationals but they still managed to give themselves a name in the volleyball world. 

It wasn’t a coincidence that they all ended up at the same university, but it drew attention, regardless. Five captains of five powerhouse schools. Two of the top five aces, one of the best a setters in the country, an unshakable middle blocker, and a spiker whose defensive skills rival that of the best liberos. 

After defeating Chuo, the top-pick for winning the collegiate prefectural preliminaries of the summer tournament, videos and hidden news articles were pulled out of dusty archives overnight. Photos are posted across all the main social media platforms, tagged and liked and reposted. 

The five first years who brought down Chuo and are going to the national stage. 

It’s an uproar when they win against Hyogo prefecture’s representative, Kwansei Gakuin University. Over recent years, Kwansei has increased their power and winning rates against local and nearby colleges and universities. This might of been the season where they beat Chuo. 

They loose, three sets to two, after Teikoku’s right-handed number ten spiked the ball with his left hand and deadly precision, landing right by the feet of Kwansei’s libero. 

It is understandable that the five gain sudden popularity. In the volleyball world, they are skilled and feared. Numerous YouTube videos have been dedicated to the evolution of their players. For example, their deceitfully honest looking number ten. In his highschool days, he had been a defensive player. And he still is, but now his offensive skill is nigh otherworldly with how quickly he evolved. A little over six months ago he had been that defensive player. Now he can fluidly switch between left and right hand, pulling off complicated plays with their setter. Their number nine’s evolutionary skill comes in at a close second. Known for relying on his left hand for attacks and his teammates to create gaps for him to blow through as their left-handed canon, he now defends and doesn’t always expect the ball to come to him. He plays decoy and receives without any hesitation. The infamous rivalry he had with their number thirteen seems to have gone away and he seems to be very close to their number ten. 

_ Outside  _ of the volleyball world, the five are appreciated for how impressive their playing looks as well as how admittedly good looking they are (volleyball magazine prices had to be increased at some stores because of how many teenage girls and boys were buying them to ogle over). It has caused a great many number of fangirls to try and find out where the five live, resorting to stalking to figure that out too. 

So, a few hours after they win the national tournament against Osaka’s representative school, the five of them now sit, cleaned, nicely dressed, twenty-four hours before they should be waiting for a flight to San Francisco, California to start their journey to to Irvine, California, in a TV studio with about a hundred-fifty person audience. A talk show. 

They were  _ not  _ ready for this. 

Ushijima doesn’t know how to feel about this. It’s a waste of time, he believes. But at the moment he is comfortably sandwiched by Sawamura and Bokuto on the long couch so he has no qualms at the moment. It is a nice couch too. It’s obviously been used a lot, and he wonders if any other famous volleyball player ever sat here. He wonders if his father ever did- probably not, because this show started seven years ago. It’s not too firm, and it’s nicely plush. The level of plush had caused Bokuto to squawk when he first sat, body sinking in. 

“Hello, hello!” The host waves, the audience calling back in greeting. “I recently got into volleyball. I first got interested in January when one of my buddies invited me to see the high school national tournament. And I was running kind of late so when I finally make it inside, I see this guy with orange hair  _ slam  _ the ball” he poorly mimics a spike in his seat “And then this guy who just pops out of nowhere and just goes  _ wham _ and it’s like a wall! It just bounces back on their side. And I look at the wall guy and the first thing I think is” he nods his head. “His  _ hair _ .” Ushijima manages a very small smile, as that is what is expected of him. 

“So apparently I was watching an infamous match!” He continues. “The two schools were Tokyo’s own Nekoma and Miyagi’s Karasuno. I emailed the coach and apparently the two have been rivals for almost  _ two _ decades now and have been waiting for this match all this time!” Noises of interest come from the crowd. “I know, right? The Battle of the Trash Heap is what they call it, a battle between cats and crows. Now lets meet the cat and crow themselves!” The audience claps and the host leans forward, turning to Sawamura and Kuroo, the two sitting next to each other. 

“Hey” Kuroo says with a wave and a smirk and a group of girls in the crowd start screaming. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m number eleven on Teikoku’s volleyball team, middle blocker, and I was the captain of Nekoma high.” The host looks at Sawamura. 

“Hello” he says with a mild blush, earning coos form the audience. Ushijima fights a frown. “My name is Sawamura Daichi. I’m number ten on the team. I’m a wing spiker and I was captain of Karasuno high school.”

“Kuroo-san” the host asks. “What was your first impression of Sawamura-san?”

“He’s the cunning type. Not really a jerk, but almost there” Kuroo says without hesitation. Sawamura sends him a dark look. The host raises an eyebrow and looks right at the camera. 

“Is that so?” Whistles rise from the audience. 

“Yeah” Kuroo says. “We met up for a practice match in the beginning of the school year. Four of their first and second years were so rowdy and I was like ‘Wow. These guys are our sworn rivals?’ And then Sawamura comes out with these large eyes and  _ never _ ” he points at the host “never get fooled by those eyes. And I didn’t know he was the captain until he asked for me. His grip is very painful, by the way. My nerves still haven’t recovered.” Sawamura laughs. 

“Not my fault your blocking strength doesn’t transfer to your hands.” Kuroo mock gasps. 

“I’m insulted!”

“It seems like the two of you have a strange relationship.” The host continues. “Can you elaborate?”

“We’re friends” Sawamura says with a shrug. “Our teams got along very well and at times it seemed like our players were weird dopplegangers of each other. Kuroo is as annoying as his hair-” 

“Hey!”

“-but he’s like a leech and a cat. He grew on me, we’re on the same team, and although I was annoyed that I’d have to deal with him everyday, I can’t imagine a day where I can’t wake up to any of these four yelling about something.”

The conversation then moves to Kuroo and Bokuto, as the Nekoma-Fukurodani friendship is well known. They “oho ohoho ohohoho” a little bit with the host joining along. He somehow pulls Oikawa and Kuroo into a conversation about hair. Ushijima is actually grows to becomes very entertained by this. He doesn’t really have to talk that much. At some point, Sawamura has moved even closer to him, thighs pressing together and shoulders touching. The most talking he had to do was regarding Oikawa and how they moved on from enemies to friends (coach-san said I had to get along with him to play on the court turns out he was serious about that) and after a short speech about his friendship with the four, Kuroo sagely says in a purposely deep monotone: “And that’s why you should of come to Shiratorizawa.” Which then leads to a smaller thread of conversation about why Sawamura is laughing so much and Oikawa looks kind of pissed off but still has a smile on his face and red bursting across his face and neck. 

“So I watched some of your videos” the host asks in the final twenty minutes of the show after a short break “And I talked to some of my friends who play volleyball. Sawamura-san, what made you want to learn how to play lefty? And how were you able to in a mere three months?”

“That’s easy” Sawamura says. “I originally didn’t want to play lefty. But being able to do that was what got me out of second-string and into first. And I was fine with being there. Ushijima was actually the one to teach me all I know about using this hand and I told him it was because I wanted to learn how to be able to control both arms not just for defense but offense as well because there’s no special move or talent I have.” Even now Sawamura never addresses the true skill he has. “But in reality, I was already friends with Kuroo and Bokuto- it’s hard not to become friends with Bokuto.” The gold-eyes player grins.

“And I like to think Oikawa and I mutually respected each other before we became hallmates and bonded over the fact that we’re country boys in the big-bad city. All I knew about Ushijima was from volleyball magazines, by kouhai Hinata ranting about how much he hates him, and something about fertile soil.”

“Ah, yes. The agricultural references” Kuroo muses. “I love them. So inspirational.”

“ _ Anyway _ , my team basically hated Shiratorizawa” Sawamura says. “I didn’t really know what to feel when I learned I’d be living with Ushijima for at least a year but I learned that he’s not the same person he is on the court. He’s a nice, honest guy. We talked, sure, but I wanted to know him better. So I thought having him teach me would be the best way. Besides our lunch, Miyagi, and calculus class, volleyball’s the only thing we got in common. It was a bonus that Ushijima decided he wanted to learn how to spike right-handed in return. I think we’re good friends now.”

Ushijima can’t help the blush that crosses his stoic face. It must look strange. Similar to an alcohol-induced flush. The audience coos and Sawamura nudges him.  _ He wanted to spend time with me. I had wondered why he had been so persistent. And on live television as well.  _

“Ushijima-san, did you know this?” The host asks. Ushijima shakes his head, partially in a daze. Everyday he looked forward to spending time with Sawamura. How would they be like if he hadn’t asked him that day? If instead of all five of them, it was only four. Would they even be here, then? Each of them have their own arsenal of skills and Sawamura’s hand switches are probably one of the most elusive.

“You two do seem close, come to think of it. Especially this one scene” as if on cue, the large collection of screens displaying the show’s name switches to a clip of their game against Chuo. They turn in their seats to watch it. 

Ushijima is standing by the net, sweat gleaming, a relieved look on his face. Sawamura, a few paces away, shakes hands with Azumane before turning to Ushijima. The only sound is the crowd’s cheers and Sawamura points at Ushijima, who is now smiling. Ushijima shrugs. Sawamura laughs and then he’s running and leaps at Ushijima. 

Now that he’s watching from a different angle, he can see so many things. The flush on Sawamura’s cheeks, the way his own arms come up to just the right position. Sawamura leaps into his arms and Ushijima thinks he can hear his cheer. The audience coos and Bokuto cackles. 

In the video, Sawamura’s hand comes down so both of his hands are on Ushijima’s shoulders. 

“Here it is, the scene that’s got all the girls screaming for photos of the two of you together” the host smirks. Sawamura’s legs are wrapped around Ushijima, Ushijima’s hands low on his back. Their heads are tilted so that they can meet each other’s eyes and now Ushijima can see that their faces were  _ really  _ close. It looks intimate. Very intimate. Ushijima wonders if this is why they had to sign forms allowing the host and the show to bring up  _ anything  _ that was public knowledge to talk about. This match is indeed public knowledge. “And what happened after that?” The host jokes. 

“We hugged.” Ushijima says. _ It was a nice hug. _

“That’s probably the most emotion I’ve seen Ushiwaka show” Oikawa points out. Ushijima prides himself for only being able to show emotion either when he actually wants to or if the level it’s at is great. His face keeps it’s stoic look. 

“It was just a hug and I was tired” Sawamura smiles. “If I’d known before, I would of had him piggy-back me to and from class.” The casual mood returns and the conversation moves elsewhere, now just fun personal things. Milk bread, owls, high school test scores. Ushijima feels something; it’s not really regret, but sadness with Sawamura’s answer. He knows this is national tv, that this is a pretty popular show whose episodes are available online after being subtitled for international viewers to see. But both consciously and subconsciously, he wanted Sawamura to call him out on it being simply a hug. That it was something more.  _ I wanted to  _ would of been an appropriate answer. 

All of Sawamura’s actions occurred because he had wanted the two of them to become friends. That worked. It worked very well. So well that Ushijima decided to take his own feelings further while Sawamura is fine with simply being friends. 

_ Treat Sawamura to a romantic night in another country _ . 

The show finishes and the host invites them to stay and enjoy some snacks and drinks with the tech crew behind stage as the audience files out. 

He follows the host backstage where there are tables and foldable chairs already set out.  _ Just a hug _ . 

People with VIP passes come behind to get autographs. There’s two people who Ushijima recognizes as the captains of the Schweiden Adlers and the MSBY Black Jackals who talk to the host (they went to school together it was them who dragged him to watch spring Nationals) before talking to each of them about volleyball. Ushijima later finds himself thinking it was lucky that they weren’t there to recruit and were just there casually. Because for most of the conversation, he had his mind on something else. Someone else. 

_ Romantic night _ . 

For someone known for being emotionless, he wonders how many more times his heart can break and then heal over with a simple kind gesture before nothing can put the pieces back together again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ushijima.... next chapter will have them traveling to California! Also, I don't live in California, I've rarely been there, so a lot of what I'll right about it is from limited knowledge.


	6. Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys arrive in California and what do they do? Create chaos at Alcatraz island and also go to a certain chocolate company themed restaurant. Also featuring, once again, your favorite sleepy Ushijima

The flight was a little over eleven hours long. They left at ten PM. And just like every other time, his father had bought them first class tickets. He ends up sitting next to Oikawa, Sawamura fast asleep across the isle. He can never fall asleep on a plane, even at a time when he should be asleep. 

Kuroo and Bokuto are having a movie marathon behind them. They’re watching an english dub of a movie adaptation of a classic anime,  _ Space Pirate Captain Harlock _ , Kuroo had told him. They’re trying to improve their english with the japanese subtitles on, occasionally muttering a heavily accented fragment of a sentence in english. Ushijima prides them for their dedication to trying to improve their language skills in eleven hours. Four hours have already passed and they’re rewatching the movie.

“Are you fluent?” Oikawa asks from next to him, tapping his knuckles against the side of the plane. Ushijima nods. “Good. My english skills are alright, I think. Does Shiratorizawa have good english teacher?”

“They focus more on the written language rather than the oral” Ushiima says. 

“How did you become fluent?”

“I wanted to learn. Whenever my father would call, I would talk to him in english. It made for good practice and I am now familiar with some slang.” Oikawa lets out a yawn and rubs his eyes but he doesn’t sleep. “You should sleep.”

“Nah” Oikawa says. “I’ve been waiting for Daichi to fall asleep so I could talk to you.” Ushijima mouth twitches into a small frown. Oikawa hasn’t troubled him in some time. They’ve gotten along quite well now, so he doubts it’s something bothersome and petty like that. “You love Daichi.” Ushijima’s brow furrows. Oikawa isn’t trying to be troublesome, but… 

Love. He used the wrong word. 

“I have a crush on him.” Ushijima corrects. “Kuroo and Satori both assured me of this.” Oikawa shakes his head. The setter looks amused. Oikawa did used to accuse him of being unfeeling. Is he smiling because of the fact that Ushijima having a crush goes against that statement? Does he find it silly that Ushijima has a crush? He knows he should of read a little bit more of some of the books the library has on-

“Wakatoshi” Oiakwa says, interrupting Ushijima’s train of thought,“ I know love. I fell in love with my childhood best friend and I  _ know  _ that he loves me.” He shrugs as if a declaration of love is something he does every-other day. “I know it seems arrogant to say that I know he loves me but it’s true. We’re skirting around our feelings but I’m going to ask him out this week. For you, Daichi was probably a crush at first. You allowed your emotions to grow.” Oikawa’s voice is soft and gentle. He’s not lying. He’s not trying to play with Ushijima. He’s being… helpful. “But that’s what’s so dangerous for you. It may not look like it but you do feel emotion. It’s just hard to show. And you care for him a lot which is pretty clear because it’s so  _ obvious _ . And that’s what might break you in the end.” Ushijima looks at his lap. 

“You’re perceptive” Ushijima states. “Do you think he…” he lets it hang even more. He doesn’t know what words to use. Likes him? Loves him? Has a crush on him? And then he sees the mild sorrow on Oikawa’s face. Oikawa’s window is one of the few that are still open this part of the flight and he can see Sawamura’s sleeping reflection, curled up in one of the complimentary blankets. 

“Sawamura annoyed me when I first met him on the court” Oikawa starts, adjusting his hands in his lap. “Just like Kuroo once said, he’s cute. Should be considered plain but he really isn’t. Down to earth. Should be easy to read. But he isn’t. You could say he’s unintentionally deceiving. I actually wish I could help you. But I don’t know how he feels.” Behind them, Kuroo and Bokuto continue their mumbling. 

“Yu orumost keeled him.” He hears Kuroo say. His accent is some strange combination of japanese and french which Ushijima is questioning how he obtained it. 

“You almost killed him.” He corrects. Kuroo’s face suddenly appears in the face between the two seats. 

“Yuu orumust keeled eem?” He repeats. Ushijima shakes his head. 

“Yu.”

“Yu.”

“No,  _ you _ . You are saying ‘yu’. It is necessary to hold the sound out.”

“Yoooou. Yoou. You. You. You!” Kuroo grins. Ushijima nods. Bokuto and Oikawa both join in as well with the quick english pronunciation lesson. It takes them a little bit to get the -lled in killed. They mange the ‘l’ sound, though. After ten long minutes, the three can say “You almost killed him!” In perfect english. And thus any variation of those words, such as “You killed him!”, “Kill him” and “Naisu kill!” Ushijima doesn’t bother telling them how to properly pronounce “nice”- it’s not like he does on the court. 

Oikawa falls asleep at the beginning of Bokuto and Kuroo’s third time watching the space-pirate movie. From their mumbling, Ushijima finds himself growing interested with what the movie is about. Oikawa’s dead weight of a head lands on Ushijima’s shoulder. He finds the movie and listens partway in the original language of Japanese before switching to the english dub for some practice. The quality of the dub isn’t bad, for once, and the movie is interested. Especially the fact that Captain Harlock owns a pieced together previously broken glass beaker which holds soil and a small sprout of a plant. He likes the plant. He wonders what its role in the movie is, since it must of cost thousands of yen and many hours to animate that few second long scene. 

After the movie finishes, he takes the headphones off and listens to what is happening around him. They have around three more hours until they land, about two and a half hours till descent, more or less depending on the pilot and the weather conditions. 

Oikawa has moved his head from his shoulder so he’s now leaning against the wall. Bokuto and Kuroo are fast asleep, headphones still on. The seatbelt sign is off so he gets up and uses the restroom. When he comes back, he passes by Kuroo and Bokuto and turns off their media players and removes the headphones before returning to his seat. Prolonged pressure is bad for their ears as it disturbs soundwaves as well as puts pressure on their ears. If he had left the headphones up, their ears would of hurt greatly when they wake. 

The windows stay close as not a lot of people are awake to lift the shades up. When they land, it will technically still be Friday, except it is California’s Friday. It will be five in the evening so the sun will be up. Considering how much they’ve all slept, they’ll probably be wanting dinner. He packed a sufficient amount of lactaid pills so he has a wider variety of locations to take his friends to. 

“Hrnmh are we there yet?” Oikawa grumbles, turning in his seat, glasses crooked on his face. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are preparing for our descent in sunny San Francisco. It’s sunny and it’s 66 degrees Fahrenheit, 19 degrees celsius. Don’t be fooled by the numbers because the humidity is 71 percent! When he head closer to San Francisco, we will be passing over a body of water that is home to the infamous Alcatraz Island! We will be landing in forty minutes. Seatbelt signs will turn on in ten minutes. Allow me to welcome you to the golden state!” The speakers turn off and Oikawa stirs awake. 

“Wha’ was that?” He yawns. 

“We’re landing in forty minutes” Ushijima says. “We have ten minutes to wake up the others.” Ushijima gets up first and shakes Kuroo and Bokuto awake. Oikawa goes to Sawamura. The two have a small conversation and then Oikawa, excited, turns to Ushijima. 

“Toshi-kun” Oikawa says. “Can we go to Alcatraz Island? Please? I’ve heard it’s haunted and Dai-chan told me that he’s interested in going there too!” Ushijima stares Oikawa down. The wide grin stays on his face, gaze unwavering. He gives a short nod. 

“We have time. There is a bag size limit though, so we will have to check in our carry-on. Make sure you take anything essential with you.” Oikawa beams and heads back to his sleep. 

“And good morning to you too.” Sawamura sleepily says. The seat next to him is empty so Ushijima decides that he can sit with him until they land. Sawamura does look cute. That’s all he can say. His hair is rumbled and his eyes are half lidded, facial muscles relaxes. The blanket envelops him, tucked behind him at the shoulders. His movements are sluggish and he gives a small yawn which causes him to burrow further into the blanket’s grasp. It is a fact that Sawamura is cute. 

“Good morning” Ushijima says “Although evening is the appropriate word, since we are in California.” Sawamura hums and twists in his seat, resting his head on Ushijima’s shoulder. 

“Pillow” he mutters. Ushijima pats his head. 

“Don’t sleep” Ushijima says. “We will be landing. Should I call for coffee? We have a few more minutes.” Sawamura nods into his shoulder, arms moving to wrap around his arm. Ushijima presses the button to call an attendant. After asking for a cup of coffee and a cup of orange juice, Oikawa, Bokuto, and Kuroo also request their own drinks with Ushijima having to translate the accented english. When she comes back with their drinks, Sawamura only frees one hand to take the drink. He mutters an “arigato gozaimasu”. The waitress smiles and replies with a slightly accented “Ie ie” before disappearing. 

“You speak good english” Sawamura says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Thank you.” They sit and drink in silence and Sawamura is halfway done with his coffee, the seatbelt sign has turned on and he looks up to examine Ushijima.

“I am finally awake only after having some coffee. I don’t know  _ how  _ you aren’t a zombie right now.” Ushijima shrugs. 

“I’m used to it.”

“ _ Or _ you didn’t sleep.” A moment of silence. “Knew it.” Sawamura somehow quickly downs the rest of his coffee, putting the mug on the side. “Ushijima, you have to sleep.”

“I have always been unable to fall asleep on an airplane.”

“And we have a nine hour layover. How long is the Alcatraz tour?”

“When I went, it took approximately four hours. Three on the island and an hour combined on the ferry. There is also this very nice restaurant I would like to take all of you to after the tour which I think you would enjoy.” Sawamura nods. 

“That sounds nice.” He rests his head on Ushjima’s shoulder again. “So eleven hour flight, plus nine hours, plus another hour for the next flight, an then about sixteen hours of being awake with the show and the game. . .you’re going to be awake for thirty-seven hours?!” Sawamura pokes Ushijima. “When we get to your father’s house, you’re heading straight to bed. You are  _ not  _ going to pass out anywhere.” Ushijima nods. 

“Of course… Dadchi.” Sawamura groans while Ushijima lets out a low rumble of a laugh. He’s very cute in the mornings. Now that Oikawa had placed that word in his head, he just can’t seem to get it out. The last time he called something cute was probably when he was still a small child. Now that he thinks about, Sawamura usually doesn’t talk before either eating or drinking something back at the dorms. This is his first time experiencing sleepy-Sawamura. And Sawamura is still clinging onto his arm. He finds that he enjoys the proximity. 

When the plane finally lands and the seatbelt signs blink off for the last time, Kuroo and Bokuto are the first to stand, quickly retrieving their carry on bags. They’re all ready to race to the section of the airport which holds their flight’s company so that they can check in their bags and have it prepared to be loaded for their flight to Irvine. With only their phones, wallets, and the new set of clothes they quickly changed into in the airport bathroom, Ushijima leads them into San Francisco. 

* * *

Alcatraz was chaotic. 

Bokuto and Kuroo wouldn’t stop messing around and Ushijima knows that logically, it should of bothered him. On the contrary, they were quite entertaining. Ushijima found that he hadn’t become annoyed with them and even occasionally joined them in their antics. The five of them took photos all over the island, ignoring tour sign-ups in favor of exploring the island on their own and while reading the signs if any of them wanted a brief history lesson. At least they can read english better than they can speak it. 

And since it was nearing six, Ushijima knew that the sun would set in about two hours when all of them are still here. And they would stay even when it’s dark because that’s how much his personality has been affected by living with these four. 

They take a lot of photos. They catch another tourist’s attention to have her take a photo of them sitting on the canons. Oikawa attempts to scale the bars of a cell. Kuroo tries to trap Bokuto in one of the interactive cells which you can enter but the lock is removed aren’t actually locked-in. Sawamura almost falls over the railing he was leaning against when they were walking around the perimeter.. Kuroo almost wet his pants in their race to find a bathroom for him. Ushijima had flinched a few times because the random noises the island made were admittedly creepy and he remembers the first and last time he came here when he was little and he didn’t really know english which led to him easily getting lost. 

But this time, this time the visit was fun and exciting. 

Especially when the ferry came back and the five of them almost missed it, not seeing its light in the darkness of the island. nearly prolonging their stay for another hour. But thanks to Bokuto’s amazing vocal capabilities, they were able to make it. The worrisome part was when Oikawa nearly fell into the bay since the ramp was a simple wooden one without any railings. 

They spent four instead of two hours on the island, successfully leaving them with three hours of free time. 

“Let’s go for dinner now.” Ushijima says. 

“I’M STARVING!” Kuroo exclaims, slumping.

“Me too” Sawamura says, sadly patting his growling stomach. Oikawa’s eyes meet Ushijima’s. His brown eyes narrow and he tilts his head over thirty degrees, nearly forty, before his eyes widen and he sits up straight, pointing an accusing finger at the wing spiker. 

“Oh, he’s planning something” the setter proclaims. “He’s planning something!” Ushijima can’t help the very small almost-not-there sly grin that crosses his face, one that he learned from trying to figure out how Kuroo does that weird cat-like grin of his. The effect it has is welcomed, especially after seeing Sawamura’s shocked expression. 

“I’m not” Ushijima says, crossing one leg over the other, feeling the ferry rock beneath them. He moves his head and looks out one of the open windows, smelling the salty breeze and looking at the dark sky with a faint splatter of stars. 

“You are!” Kuroo says. For the rest of the ride, all four of them, even Sawamura, try to get him to spill what he’s planning. Ushijima just shakes his head and corrals all of them off the ferry, telling them to watch their wallets lest they get stollen. 

They stick close together, lost in this new world, looking around in awe at the tall buildings, different fashion. There are a few people that actually  _ recognize  _ them and ask to take photos, Ushijima having to translate for them most of the time. It’s pretty crowded because in America the schools are experiencing their summer break, which Ushijima warned them about. And California is a very popular tourist and vacation spot. 

Ushijima tries to answer any questions they have. There’s not a lot, and that makes Ushijima happy because he reads it as the trust they have in him. It makes him feel nice. The conversation then, of course, switches to volleyball and then they’re talking about the teams they’ve faced. They think this tournament was easy because the other schools were also getting settled in with their new players and having to readjust to major play changes. The five of them had clicked already, their skills piecing together perfectly, so that had enabled them to easily beat their opponents. It won’t be so easy next time, especially now that they used all of their plays and will have to come up with new ideas soon. Ushijima knows that his father will be able to help them out with that, being a coach for a professional volleyball team in a country where volleyball is very popular. 

“The heck is that?” Bokuto gasps as Ushijima leads them in the direction of a tall building. It’s a very popular restaurant so when they had finally found Kuroo the restroom on Alcatraz, he had looked up the place on his phone and called ahead of time to make a table reservation. 

“Ghiradelli” Oikawa says. “That’s a chocolate company. Good too- wait a moment.  _ Wait a moment _ . WAKA-” Ushijma just walks faster and the other four become more and more excited like a cluster of ducklings racing to get to the pond. 

“You crafty meanie” Bokuto says, nudging Ushijima while he bounces around. Ducklings was certainly the wrong descriptor to use. Maybe feral cats would be better. Except for Sawamura- he rarely acts out of line. “Are we going in there? What’s in there? Is it an interactive thing? Is it a store? Is it-” Ushijima opens the door and holds it open for the others to enter. 

“Table of five for Ushijima.” He says. The waitress nods and taps something on the computer in front of her, grabs a few menus, and leads the way. 

“This is a restaurant” Ushijima says and the four of them look around in awe. The diners all look so happy, feasting on deserts they recognize and don’t recognize. Tall milkshakes that look too big for one person to handle, ladled with so many toppings. Banana splits and icecream cakes. Kuroo and Bokuto have to tightly grip onto each other or else one of them would of wrecked havoc and gotten them all kicked out. 

The table is a medium sized circular one. Ushijima sits first, then Sawamura, Kuroo, Bokuto, and Oikawa. They open their menus and only a few seconds after, Ushijima is greeted to three cries of pain and a chuckle. He looks up from his menu, confused. 

“Whyyyyy” Bokuto wails, sadly flipping through the laminated pages. “I can’t reeeeead thiiiiiiiiis.” Kuroo pats his back and holds his phone out. 

“Bro, here. I’m good at reading english. I downloaded this really good translator.” Bokuto beams and begins his spree of translating all the pages. 

“This is quite a surprise.” Sawamura says, phone out and displaying a note-taking app where he types down the names of the things he wants to order. Ushijima knows that Sawamura will have no trouble eating all of it, having eaten nothing on the flight paired with his huge appetite and surprising metabolism.

“This is my favorite place to visit in California” Ushijima says. Sawamura frowns. 

“But a lot of these, they have milk.” Ushijima nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little carry-on size bottle of little pills. 

“Lactaid pills” Ushijima says. “I usually don’t take them since the prescription makes me a bit drowsy after a bit. But I do enjoy indulging myself at locations such as these.” Sawamura nods. 

“They work? As in, you won’t get an allergic reaction?” His face is contorted in worry and his eyes hold a little bit of fear. Ushijima needs to comfort him. The last time he had eaten dairy had been on accident and had made him sicker than he had been because of the rain. Sawamura had been the one to take care of him and it was that day that his feelings started to really grow. The concern he had shown him, the realization of the stark contrast between Sawamura and the rest of his classmates. His kindness. Sawamura was popular and well-liked, honest. But he still decided to side with Ushijima, to start sitting and walking with him. 

“They work. Do not worry.” Ushijima comforts. The waitress comes over and everyone passes their orders to Ushijima, who orders for all of them. It was a lot of food. A  _ lot _ . But it will be enjoyed and wouldn’t be put to waste. 

They eat. They miss their flight. Ushijima sends a text to his father that they missed their flight and also calls the airline, telling them to hold their luggage at Irvine. The flight is rebooked for two hours later. They enjoy their food. Ushijima starts to feel drowsy. 

There are about a dozen empty cups and trays that used to hold some sort of desert. The sugar content was high. And so was the chocolate content. Bokuto is still eating an icecream sundae with about six scoops of icecream, all different flavors, with large chunks of brownie scattered and a drizzle of hot fudge. Sawamura has the same thing and the two are racing to see who finishes first. Ushijima calls for the bill and pays it, not blinking as he pulls out four fifty US dollar bills, two hundred total, and tells her to keep the change as tip. The smile on her face makes his day/night even better. 

Kuroo and Oikawa are sluggishly chewing a chocolate stray each and Ushijima finishes his slice of fudge cake with a thin layer of cooling icecream. 

“We need to leave” Ushijima says. “Or else we will miss this flight as well. It also happens to be four in the morning.” They blink at him. Bokuto’s brow furrows. 

“How are we awake? Wait, no, how are we still  _ here _ ?”

“I simply had to say a few things to have the waitress allow us to stay a bit longer” He says. None of them had realized that the other tables are empty with the chairs balanced on top of them. He pockets his pills, wallet, and phone. The other four get up and follow him out, hailing a taxi to take them to the airport. They all manage to keep each other awake on the flight to Irvine. When they land, the sun is starting to rise and Ushijima fights to stay awake. 

“Come on” Sawamura says, gently tugging at his arm to stand up. It’s so warm and it takes al of his willpower to not lean into his touch. “You can sleep at your dad’s place. We need the address.” Ushijma nods. 

Luggage is a pain. Both in finding it and carrying it. 

The drive to his house is twenty minutes long and it seems like all of them are diverting their attention to keeping him awake. The entire drive he had his head on Kuroo’s shoulder, the person closest in height to him, eyes feeling heavy. 

His dad was probably still asleep so Ushijima guides Bokuto to where the key left out for them is. They enter the large house and Ushijima leads them to the guest rooms. He thinks about going to sleep on the floor but Sawamura takes his arm. 

“Come on” he soothingly says as Bokuto and Kuroo flop down on the large bed of the room they decide to share. Oikawa simply salutes at Ushijima, winking at him, before closing the door to his room. How strange. “Where’s your room?” Ushijima mumbles something. He doesn’t even know what came out of his own mouth but he leads him back to the ground floor. The lights are off, the rising sun barely lighting up the place enough for them to see. Ushijima left his bags by the front door. He leads Sawamura to the other side of the house where there’s a door next to the kitchen. He opens the door, showing a narrow staircase. He silently leads Sawamura up, his grip having moves down so that he’s holding onto his wrist, brushing the bottom of his palm. 

At the top of the staircase, to the left, is another door. Ushijima opens it and leads Sawamura into his room. 

“My room” he mumbles, flicking the switch for the ceiling fan on. The room is large and there’s a connected bathroom. A large window faces east, curtain thin, and Ushijima watches Sawamura push them aside to look outside, looking at the sun rising over low buildings and mountains. He watches him look around his room. There’s an old volleyball, a small bookshelf, the workbooks he had been studying when he came last year, his Shiratorizawa uniform from his first year of Junior High, and a stuffed polar bear wearing the Irvine Polar Bears jersey. 

“You’ve got a nice place” Sawamura says as Ushijima flops onto his bed after putting his phone, wallet and pills on the bedside table, lazily kicking off his shoes on the way there. The sun filters in through the window and Ushijima knows that he’s about to wreck his sleep schedule. Kuroo, Bokuto, and Oikawa will probably wake up around twelve, since they slept a lot on the plane. The same goes for Sawamura, who slept the longest. 

_ Sawamura... _

His face is lit up, golden, his jaw and cheek shining. His eyes seem to glow, warm and welcoming. 

_ Beautiful _ . 

“Did you say something?” Sawamura asks. “Well, I’m going to let you sleep. I’m guessing I’ll sleep with Oikawa.” He turns to leave.  _ No _ . 

“Stay.” Ushijima says, rolling over so that half of the bed is open. Sawamura looks over his shoulder. “Stay. Sleep here.” He says, louder, trying not to close his eyes and give himself some rest. Sawamura just smiles. He walks over but not to the empty side of the bed. He removes the blanket from under Ushijima and moves to tuck him in but Ushijima just sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. 

“I know how to get back” Sawamura says. “Now lay back down.” Ushijima narrows his eyes. He’s trying to figure out the best course of action without potentially angering or upsetting the other. It seems as if he would be fine with sleeping on the same bed as him, he just isn’t confident. Sawamura tries to push Ushijima back down put the taller man makes up his mind. Perhaps he wouldn’t of done this if he wasn’t so drowsy, his brain sleep-deprived. Perhaps he would of let Sawamura go sleep in the guest room with a joking “good morning”. 

Sleep-deprived Ushijima only knows that he wants Sawaura here with him. 

Sawamura’s breath hitches when Ushijima drags him onto the bed, rolling over so that Sawamura is placed on the empty side of the bed. Ushijima’s arms are still wrapped around his tense body and he frees one only so that he can draw the blanket up around the two of them. 

“Ushi-” Sawamura starts, brown eyes wide. Ushijima lazily blinks and pulls Sawamura into a hug, just like the night before finals on the mattresses, except now he tucks his own head under Sawamura’s. 

“Daichi” Ushijima murmurs, the weight of his given name like a drug on his tongue. “Stay.” He feels Sawamura swallow, feeling the movement of his Adam’s apple through the skin of his forehead. He’s too busy shutting his brain down, but he feels Sawamura relax under him and let out a breathy chuckle. Then he falls asleep. 

“Are you asleep now?” Sawamura says to himself, tilting his head down to look at Ushijima. He remembers the first time he met the teen. His third-year of highschool, from across the court. He seemed to serious, so stoic. But even then, he had been mildly confused because the emotion in his eyes looked so much different than what was on his face. He had been excited to play, even though anyone else would of compared how he had looked to a sentinel.

And now… Ushijima really is a confusing person. 

He untraps one of his arms and strokes Ushijima’s hair with a sad smile. He looks so at ease, so relaxed. Even with the light shadows painted under his eyes. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe its something else, but when he closes his eyes, tears prickle at his eyes, warmth tracing it’s wa down his cheeks. He sniffles and puts his hand on the back of Ushijima’s head, holding him close to his chest, shifting closer to the teen. “Sleep well, Wakatoshi.”


	7. Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima and Sawamura spend the day together. It goes the way it's supposed to go before it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gathered the energy to write this chapter after reading "The One Where Daichi is Dating a Mysterious Man" by Adaven. At last, another fellow person who loves UshiDai as much as I do. Check it out and make sure you subscribe! I'll try to make sure that the next chapter doesn't take a month to post, but that's also kinda a stretch because now I'm going back to school in person and as I've ranted about in my other fics ANs....AP Classes.

Ushijima feels someone shaking his shoulder. Gentle. Warm. He nuzzles the pillow and waits for the person to go away. They don’t. 

“Toshito, come on. Wake up.” Kind. Warm. Familiar. “It’s two o’clock. You don’t want to mess up your day.”

“Ten more minutes, Sawamura” Ushijima mutters and then there’s a chuckle. 

“I’m not eighteen, my boy. But that photo was very cute.” Ushijima’s eyes snap open and even though he wants to sleep, the want does not override the memories that flood his brain. Icecream. Cake. Alcatraz. Lactaid pills making him drowsy and tired combined with his sleep-deprivation. Sawamura leading him to his room. Sawamura about to go. Pulling Sawamura onto his bed, wrapping his arms around him, and falling asleep. 

Falling asleep. 

“I sent it to you. Your friend, Tooru, showed me another one. Do you sleep with him often?” Ushijima grumbles and sits up. Sawamura isn’t in his bed. His dad is sitting on the edge of his bed, crows feet crinkling and smile wide. 

“Dad” he says. Utsui hugs him. 

“Welcome home, my boy” he says. Ushijima hugs his father back.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon. It looks like you haven’t caught up on all your sleep so that’s good. You’ll have a good rest tonight.” Ushijima gets up, his dad filling him in on what his friends are doing. They had brought up his stuff at one point, suitcase and bag neatly positioned by the door. Ushijima opens his suitcase, taking out his bag of toiletries and a set of clothes, going to the joint bathroom to shower and change. It seems like Oikawa had woken Sawamura up after delivering Ushijima’s belongings. And had taken a photo. 

Ushijima takes a quick shower so his dad doesn’t have to wait for too long. He brushes his teeth in the shower to speed things up a little. He dries himself off and puts on his clothes: a pair of athletic shorts and a loose purple t-shirt. Then he quickly and efficiently combs his hair before exiting his bathroom, his dad scrolling through his phone on the bed. 

“Can you show me the photo?” Ushijima asks. Utsui brightens. 

“Of course!” He exclaims, quickly tapping on the screen before shoving it at Ushijima. He takes it and looks down at it. And he can’t help the small smile that shows up on his face, gently pulling at the corner of his lips. There are three photos, one of the two asleep, another of Sawamura having shifted a bit, and a third with Sawamura blearily glaring at the camera. He likes the third one. Sawamura is half-cocooned by the blanket and that glare is rather ineffective on his sleepy face. It seems to make him look...cute.

“You  _ like _ him.” Ushijima’s clicks the phone off and looks up. Utsui is grinning. “Awe, this is adorable. I thought the two of you looked so cute and Daichi is a very nice guy. He helped me prepare lunch. I’m not going to judge, but are the two of you dating? Because I asked the other three about it and all they did was describe how you act around him which was  _ not  _ helpful. At all. It was like dealing with all of the spirits my team’s fangirls except jammed into the minds of four college boys!” Ushijima hands the phone back to his dad. 

“No. We are not dating. He doesn’t know about my affections.” Utsui’s face falls. That’s also how Ushijima feels in the inside. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just assumed.” He lets out a short laugh. “Do you plan on doing anything?” Ushijima nods. 

“I’m going to spend time with him.” He resolutes. “Satori told me to treat him to a romantic night. I will need to plan for that.”

“At the pier!” Utsui gasps. “You can go to the pier!” Ushijima nods. 

“Thank you for the idea.” Utsui shoots him finger guns and stands up. 

“No problem” he says in english. “I hope you get the boy, Wakatoshi. You aren’t visibly affectionate towards a lot of people. This boy must mean a lot to you if just talking about him makes you start blushing like a schoolgirl.” He gives his son a wry smile and Ushijima knows that he isn’t blushing. He knows for sure. His father likes to tease him- it’s always been like that. And Ushijima appreciates it. 

“He means a lot to me” Ushijima says. “What is for lunch?”

“Sandwiches. Daichi insisted we wait for you. It looks like Koutarou never had sandwiches before because he kept on poking at the bread.” 

Ushijima hums. Only Bokuto would do that. And only Sawamura would have the courage to keep food away from him. 

“Grilled meat sandwiches?” Ushijima asks. If it was grilled meat…

“Yes.” 

Bokuto is probably going to be whining to Ushijima the whole day about why he couldn’t wake up earlier and let him eat the sandwiches. But he forgets about his hypothetical problem when he arrives in the dining room and Sawamura looks at him, face free of sleep and exhaustion, eyes bright, a toothy smirk on his face, and arms protectively keeping a platter of sandwiches from a dejected, whining Bokuto who futilely paws at the living barricade. 

  
  


Utsui had taken Oikawa to the university where Iwaizumi’s exchange program is being hosted at. Utsui picks him up everyday at this time to take him to the Irvine Polar Bear’s practices. Although Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa was going to come to California at some point after the summer tournament, he was just never told  _ when  _ his friend was going to arrive. 

Ushijima had been there to watch Bokuto give Oikawa a pep talk, as he was planning to ask Iwaizumi out today. He only wishes that he had the same amount courage. 

It was laughable that Bokuto would be the one giving the love advice, but he was the only one out of the five with an actual romantic relationship, so he said he was the most qualified for advice-giving, even though it was Akaashi who had been the one to confess to Bokuto first. And as the story went from Kuroo who heard is from Akaashi, Bokuto had started crying as well. 

Kuroo and Bokuto left shortly after Utsui had texted them the house’s address and given them a spare key. 

That leaves him and Sawamura. 

Alone. 

“So what do you do around here?” Sawamura asks, the two of them lounging on the couches in the living room, the TV on low volume and on a chanel marathoning badly-dubbed  _ Sailor Moon _ . 

“Usually I study” Ushijima says, pleased when he sees Sawamura look at him apprehensively “But that only lasts around a day as I usually bring Satori here and he easily gets bored with it. I take the bike and go whichever way I want to and I always end up finding something new. You could call it exploring. Besides that, I practice volleyball with the team my father coaches.” Sawamura nods. His hands are in his pocket and he absently glances at the TV before slitting his gaze back to Ushijima. 

“Can we do that tomorrow? The adventuring?” Sawamura asks. 

“Why not today?   
  


“You look like you want to pass out” Sawamura teases, a crooked smile on his face. 

An advertisement replaces the anime that was playing. Sawamura gets distracted by what it is showing. Ushijima takes the chance to quickly think of what to do with Sawamura. It has to be something that won’t be affected by his current state of mild exhaustion. Ushijima is horrible at any board game except for Parcheesi and he has long outgrown that simple game. He won’t be able to give his all if they played volleyball. He can use the guest passes his father has stored and go to the gym? No, that isn’t unique. TV is boring. Just talking will become awkward soon. 

“Oh, mangoes!” Sawamura says when the advertisement changes to display the yellow fruit. “Ushijima, do you have any fruit. I’m kind of hungry again” he says sheepishly. An idea pops into his mind. Food.  _ Food _ . 

“Would you like to make something?” Ushijima blurts. “Sandwiches aren’t really filling, and my father always stocks the kitchen before I come, so there should be mangoes. We can make a pie. I also always make desert for the Polar Bears so if you would like to assist me.”

“How can I say no?” Sawamura says. “I never thought you could ramble. It’s strange because your voice doesn’t even change pitch. Reminds me of Kageyama, muttering behind the back of any setter who interests him for their secrets.” What Sawamura just said was eerily similar to what Satori had told him a few weeks ago when he first called him about Sawamura. It was the first time in his life he rambled. This is the second time he has ever rambled. Both in less than six months. 

He turns the TV off and the two make their way into the kitchen. Ushijima goes to a bookshelf with cookbooks and a binder located between two cabinets. He takes down the binder and he realizes that he’s grown taller since the last time he’s come here. 

“Is this your height?” Sawamura asks. Ushijima turns around, binder in hand, and he sees Sawamura measuring himself against some wall by the edge of the kitchen, stepping away to see where his height reaches. Ushijima already knows what’s there. Everytime he comes over, his dad would stand him against it and use a knife to nitch how tall he was before writing his age next to it. Last year, he had to use a chair to reach. It was one of the few times his mother had come to California with him. His parents may be divorced but they’re still on good terms, having been close friends before they started dating, and that relationship has been maintained quite nicely. He lays the binder on the countertop and flips through pages of recipes, forming a history of sorts. Changes in ink pen color before the characters stay black. Wobbly hiragana with the slow introduction of kanji and then occasional splashes of childish english letters. Rough sketches. Notes written in the margins. He looks up and sees Sawamura crouching down before moving up a certain amount, and then more, lining up the height levels of the younger versions of Ushijima with eye level. 

“You were taller than me at fifteen?” Sawamura grumbles to himself. He gets up and looks up to see the niche from a few days before Ushijima turned eighteen, reaching a hand up to touch it. He turns around and pads to where Ushijima is bent over the recipe binder. “Did you write all of those?” Ushijima nods. 

“It is whatever I have made before in this kitchen.” 

Sawamura lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of cooking.”

“Most of them are deserts. I’m fond of baking. Have any of them caught your eye?” He slides the binder closer to Sawamura and the man flips through the binder, lingering on some pages more than others, fingers tracing over recipe names and lines of ingredients. Careful. As if the paper were something delicate and archaic. Or precious. 

“This one” He points to a recipe in the later half of the binder. “Mini pineapple tarts. Except with mangoes.”

For the next four hours, the two of them make numerous batches of tarts. The freezer undergoes a major reorganization in order to fit the many trays they use. The counter is covered in flours from making the crusts, ingredients specking the countertops and the floor. Their own faces, hands, and shirts also have smears of food given by each other when the towel seemed to be too far away. 

They’re in the middle of putting food coloring gel in the whipped cream when Sawamura’s phone rings from next to the sink. 

“That’s Suga” Sawamura says, not even facing the device yet. “I forgot he was going to call me. Give me a” he’s interrupted by Ushijima quickly smearing a small bead of orange food coloring down his nose, turning the strip bright orange, making it look like the top of his nose turned into an orange peel “minute.” Ushijima mentally congratulates himself for succeeding. Payback for the three thin lines of red food coloring on his cheek that makes it look as if his face got mauled by some creature. He gives Ushijima one of the many Looks from his arsenal but Ushijima manages to hold his ground. The cheek muscle right by the corner of Sawamura’s eye is twitching, meaning that he’s trying not to either smile or laugh. The phone continues to ring and the continue their staring contest. The quickest way to end this would be for himself to blink, but he is not one for loosing. 

“You should pick that up” Ushijima says before trying to smile as warmly as he can. His smiles are never large but he doesn’t really smile, so doing so in the first place is probably quite revolutionary for anyone who sees the expression. Sawamura loses and smiles back. 

“Yeah” he says. He twists around the corner of the island and grabs his phone, groaning. “ _ No _ . Help me, it’s a video call.”

“Then you should accept it.” Ushijima says. 

“This is  _ your  _ fault.”

“No. You asked for fruit on the couch.”

“He knows I’m on vacation, just not that I’m in California!” Sawamura exclaims. “Or else he would of bought a ticket without me knowing just so that he could spy on me in another country!” Ushijima holds the spatula and starts mixing in the food coloring, folding it in so that the whipped topping doesn’t melt. . 

The ringing stops. 

“Hello” Sawamura says only to be drowned out be a cacophony of voices shouting different variations of his name. 

“Oh no, it’s all of them” Ushijima looks over his shoulder. 

“Daichi-san, remove your thumb from the camera!” A high-pitched voice exclaims. Ushijima peers at the screen and he sees that the screen is filled with familiar faces. Karasuno. Some of them are trying not to laugh, probably at Sawamura’s state. How do they manage to congregate so quickly and suddenly? Have they truly adopted the behavioral adaptation of avians, crows to be specific, of grouping together? 

“You know Dadchi” someone else says. “He doesn’t know how to use a phone.” Sawamura sends Ushijima a small smile before turning the phone away, uncovering the camera. He rubs the back of his neck. That’s Ushijima’s favorite nervous habit of his. 

“I know how to use a phone” he says. Ushijima adds one drop of red food coloring and two drops yellow to make the color a more solid pastel orange. “So how are you guys doing? It’s almost lunch over there, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Some of them shout back “We’re all practicing. We’re taking a break.”

“Yuu” Ushijima is mildly pleased that he recognizes that voice as Sawamura’s close friend, Suga. “Daichi doesn’t want to hear about practice.”

“Actually, it’s fi-”

“We want to hear what  _ you  _ have been doing.”

“Where are you, Daichi-san!?”

“Were you cooking? Are you cooking?”

“Hey, guys, let’s just go in order! We don’t want to overwhelm in.”

“Ryuu. . .you sounded so smart.”

Sawamura massages the bridge of his nose and then glares at his hand. Ushijima now sees that there is more coloring on his fingers, the coloring spread further across his face. Sawamura glares at Ushijima and he actually has to stop himself from saying something about his face. 

“This is all your fault” Sawamura hisses. 

“Oh, who’re you with?”

“None of your concern” Sawamura says. If Ushijima remembers correctly from the for-fun matches they had after defeating Chuo, Karasuno was still very disapproving of him. He doesn’t know why. He treats Sawamura nicely, they have a beneficial friendship. Perhaps they hold some resentment from prefecturals? But Karasuno defeated Shiratorizawa. Jealousy perhaps? No, that doesn’t seem right. Perhaps the evil tangerine devel brainwashed them... Or maybe they’re like his classmates: they just don’t like him. 

“Where are you?” 

Sawamura grins at the phone. 

“California” he says. There are oohs and cries of excitement from the other end. Then comes more questions. Where in California? Is he close to the beach? Is he staying with relatives? What’s his address? Ushijima takes two trays of chilled tarts from the freezer. He gently transfers the whipped cream into a wide-tipped piping bag. He starts professionally tipping the tarts with whipped cream that is swirled different shades of soft orange and white. He does one row before placing some small mango cubes on top before moving onto the next row. 

“I’m actually staying with the family of one of my friends” Sawamura says. “I’m going to meet with Iwaizumi today so that’ll also be nice.” Chatter. “Sure, I’ll tell him you said hi, Kageyama.” Sawamura laughs at something they’re saying. Ushijima finishes topping the tray of dozen tarts. He puts it in the fridge and then moves onto the second tray. 

“Mini mango tarts!” Sawamura proudly states. “I helped make them.” He sets the phone down to go the fridge and take out two tarts. He gives one to Ushijima, taking the other with him back to his phone. He sets the tart on the countertop and angles the phone so that they can look at it. 

“Woah! They look so professional!” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t me who did the decorating. I would of failed.” Ushijima lets out a tut to anonymously state his disapproval with Sawamura’s statement. 

“Sawamura, I took classes that taught me these skills. With the rate you are able to develop skills, you would be able to decorate the tarts with the same precision as I can perhaps after half a dozen attempts.” Ushijima enters the camera’s frame of view, having to hunch over to fit, making him shove Sawamura, who shoves him back what he assumes is in a playful manner. He waves at the screen with a stained hand. He can see his own face staring back at the bottom corner of the screen, the three red food coloring marks looking a lot like blood, smeared hand-shaped flour caking his neck and jaw. 

“Oh, can I try some of the whipped cream?” Sawamura asks, holding a finger out. 

“Sure.” He pipes some onto his finger before returning to pipe the rest of the batch, ignoring the cries of “Ushiwaka”, “JAPAN”, “Ushijima”, and” GJNOJHNODFOS” that exit the speaker of the phone. He hears Sawamura explain the situation. Ushijima invited all of them to California for the next three weeks and he accepted the invitation. The situation would of been avoided if Sawamura hadn’t darted around telling them where he was-

It hits him. 

He knows he can be dense at times. He doesn’t understand a lot of strange slang. Hypothetical situations are a rare thing to think about because he is always sure of an outcome and it almost always happens. His knowledge is firm and when applied, he is always content with what comes out of it. 

Sawamura didn’t want people to know he was with him in California. He hadn’t mentioned Ushijima’s name once.  _ Friend’s family _ . Truth, but not the full truth. 

The next dozen tarts are quickly finishes. He thinks some of the conversation on the phone is about him. His legs feel weighted from lack of sleep. His calves feeling especially tired. He and Sawamura get along very well, so why wouldn’t he talk about him until he showed himself? 

He hears them talking about the talk show episode that had aired two days ago? Almost two days? Time zones are confusing. 

His interpretation of Sawamura’s actions still ring through his head. He doesn’t know why, but he needs to calm down. There’s something prickling behind his eyes, the feeling he gets when he’s forced to stay up late watching movies with Satori. He puts the second tray into the fridge. 

“Sawamura” he says. “We are out of heavy cream. I am going to go to the store.” Sawamura looks up and furrows his brow but Ushijima has already left the kitchen, only stopping to check that he has his phone and to pocket a key. He brushes the flour off and the food coloring wouldn’t gather much attention- he’s long-since learned that a lot of strange things are accepted as normal in California. 

Locking the door behind him, he steps down the porch, looking at his father’s bicycle. No, a jog would clear his mind more. He wonders if Sawamura would be concerned with how long he is taking to simply get heavy cream. 

Gaze turned westward, he starts the long jog to the place he needs to go. 

* * *

Daichi knows that something is wrong when he saw Ushijima pause halfway through piping whipped cream on the fourth tart of tray two out of the corner of his eye. His team is still talking and he pays attention to them, talking when he needs to, and he has to force himself to not become enveloped by the conversation. 

Being around Ushijima for so much everyday in so many different situations has allowed him to figure out how to read the man. He may seem stoic but his eyes are actually very expressive. Their natural shape has the effect of usually making one think that he’s silently picking you apart. But there are so many times when Ushijima’s eyebrows raise just a little bit, making his eyes seem large, filled with childish curiosity towards whatever has caught his interest. The obvious furrow of his brow in more serious situations. The ways his eyes become heavy lidded when he’s tired or pleased with something. His Mona Lisa smile that comes out for just a second- blink and you will miss it. 

He sees Ushijima’s lower lip become just a bit smaller. He’s biting it. Something’s troubling him. 

Noya talks about how Hinata has been trying to spike lefty really good, just like Daichi, but he’s not doing good at all. 

Ushijima’s lip isn’t being bit anymore but he’s piping the tarts more quickly than before, fingers deftly adjusting the piping bag, the swirls tighter and shorter. He quickly finishes the twelve and puts them in the fridge, lingering. 

“Sawamura” he says after closing the fridge door. Daichi looks up and tries to meet Ushijima’s gaze “We are out of heavy cream. I am going to the store.” He moves past Daichi, movement quick. Daichi frowns. 

“Yeah guys, give me a moment” he says, watching Ushijima only grab his phone and not his wallet. After he exits the room, Daichi goes to the fridge. 

The heavy cream is right there, next to the tray of tarts he just put in. There is no way he missed it, with it’s large, white, roman letters and red carton. He closes the fridge, his stomach turning. He goes back to the phone. 

“Sorry, I’ll text the chat later” Daichi says. “I have to go.” His troubles must show on his face because no one protests, instead calling out their quick goodbyes before Koushi ends the call. Daichi looks at the kitchen, nothing out that will spoil in a few hours time. He hears the front door close and he quickly rushes, finding and slipping his shoes on. Ushijima walks down the porch and to the sidewalk, moving from a walk to a jog, heading in the direction of the setting sun. 

_ Where is he going _ ?

Daichi locks the door behind him and sends a quick text to Kuroo saying that he and Ushijima are going out for a little bit and not to eat what’s in the fridge. He gets a strange emoticon in return. There’s a bicycle on the porch and Daichi knows that he won’t be able to keep up with Ushijima’s near-run so he gets on the bike after carrying it down he steps. 

He keeps his distance, keeping Ushijima in sight. He cruises down the bike lane, impressed with Ushijima’s speed and stamina. They pass by numerous stores, confirming Daichi’s thoughts that something really is bothering Ushijima. Was it something he said? Did he do something? 

Daichi slowly grows more and more annoyed. Where is Ushijima running? If Daichi hadn’t gone after him, would he of told him that he was going to be late? Because this is taking far longer than it would have to go to and back from a store. 

The sun is lowering. It’s almost seven-thirty and Ushijima has been jogging for about an hour, not even stopping once. Daichi is becoming more and more concerned. The smell of salt increases and soon outfits on the street change from casual and formal to casual and swimwear. People wave at him and say good evening and he waves back at them. 

Ushijima is going to the beach. 

Daichi slows down as Ushijima does so, rows of buildings ending. The sand looks fine and light with scatterings of seaweed. A sidewalk separates sand from tar. Ushijima jogs down the sidewalk and Daichi follows him on. He keeps on jogging, taking the two father away from the crowded parts of the beach. The sidewalk ends and Ushijima goes on the sand. This is going to be tricky now. He gets off the bike and waits for Ushijima’s figure to become a little bit smaller before stepping onto the sand, wheeling the bike next to him. 

Colors spread across the ocean the lower the sun gets, hues of pinks, golds, and blues streaking across the water like ribbons. The sounds of the beachgoers grow quieter and quieter. There’s no one close by where Ushijima finally stops. Daichi gently sets the bike down on the sand, watching the man with a mix of curiosity and a growing sense of worry. 

Ushijima’s hands are clenched. He’s breathing harshly now, shoulders moving up and down in time to his breaths. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and kicks his shoes off, peeling his socks off. Then he goes to the ocean, standing ankle deep in the water. There’s something sad about the way he stands. It feels strange, seeing how Ushijima behaves when he thinks that there’s nobody there to watch him. He watches him sit, resting his arms on his knees, the water lapping at his body. 

Before he knows it, his own shoes are being coming off, socks folded inside. He tries folding the legs of his jeans up, wishing he had worn shorts like Ushijima, before giving up when they wouldn’t stay up. Silently padding across the sand, he stands behind Ushijima before sitting to his left. Ushijima’s gaze flits to him once before they return to the ocean. 

“What did I do wrong?” Daichi asks after about two long minutes of silence. “I know it’s something that I did. Can you tell me what? I never meant to hurt you.” Ushijima still doesn’t look at him. It’s quiet for another minute and Daichi can’t figure out if Ushijima is thinking or if he doesn’t actually want to talk. 

“It’s not you, it’s me.” Ushijima says in his low rumble, eyes half-lidded. His lashes glow gold with the light of the setting sun. “What’s so wrong with me that you didn’t tell your friends that it was me who you were with?” Daichi’s heart, brain, and everything freezes. 

In the beginning of the school year, one of the things that made him want to become acquainted with Ushijima was because of the man himself. At first it seemed like how he was on the court applied to how he was in real life. But then he’d see him walking across campus, eating alone at the cafeteria. He noticed he was in in the same calculus class as him. He observed him. He heard what would be said in the halls, how his classmates would talk. Michimiya would text him quite often, since they ended up going to same college, and one of the things she talked about was how she sat next to Ushijima and how he’s such a nice guy regardless of how scary he looks at first glance. 

Back then, within the first month of school, Daichi realizes that Ushijima was basically another Asahi- he was someone that most people judged off of first appearances, doing nothing to know him better, using rumours to firmen their opinions about him. Except he didn’t do or say anything to deny or affirm the claims that others would make. And it confused him. Why would he let all those people say those things about him? Say that he’s cold, unfeeling. That he’s a robot. That he shouldn’t even be considered human. 

So he tried to get to know Ushijima better. And along the way, the curiosity faded and was replaced by want for a friendship, to become close to him, to be someone that he could open up to. The day Akiteru and Ushijima had walked into class, a bruise spreading across the latter’s face with a small trickle of blood, he really didn’t know what to think. And then he fell sick and Daichi couldn’t help the worry and that small amount of fear that even though things are bad, they can become a lot worse. 

From then on he walked with Ushijima. He learned that as long as he was there, Ushijima wasn’t tripped or talked about in the halls. He’d decline invitations from acquaintances from different classes for lunch so that he could track down Ushijima to the same table at the dining hall. Instead of sitting by the door in calculus with different people surrounding him everyday, he would enjoy the peacefulness of the other corner of the classroom with Ushijima at his side. Daichi will never deny this, but he’s a protective person. Once he cares about someone, he will try his hardest to make them happy, to make them feel accepted. That’s why he indulges Bokuto so much. That’s why he lets Kuroo sling an arm around him and rib at him. It’s why he lets Oikawa come up with so many nicknames for him even though he can’t even make sense of most of them. It’s not like a hobby or anything. It’s just...that’s how he’s like as a person, with his friends

And here’s Ushijima, thinking that he did something wrong. And the rocks in his gut grow heavier because Ushijima didn’t do  _ anything  _ wrong and why did he have to have the video call like that? Why didn’t he mention Ushijima earlier?

“It’s not your fault” Daichi says, digging his toes into the wet sand. “I guess I didn’t want them to start yelling. I’ve told them that you’re a good person but for some reason those four dummies have something against you. I would of taken ear damage if I knew not saying anything was going to hurt you.” He lifts his arm up and wraps it around Ushijima’s shoulders, fingers gripping onto his shoulder. Ushijima relaxes and Daichi is mildly surprised when Ushijima hunches over so he can rest his head on Daichi’s shoulder, their gazes still focused on the horizon. 

Sometime in the past, Daichi doesn’t know when, something changed. In a good way. Daichi remembers the night before finals, waking up in the middle of the night to realize he was cuddled up against Ushijima on the mattresses. And he was also awake. And they just looked at each other before Daichi closed his eyes, letting his half-awake mind move him so that he’s more comfortable, and then falls asleep. And when he woke up, Ushijima was still curled around him, asleep. And Daichi realized that he didn’t mind.

And then last night, that had been a surprise. Daichi had the opportunity to leave but he chose not to roll off the bed after being tackled onto it. He didn’t mind it, really. This friendship he’s developed, it’s even more special than what he has with Asahi, Koushi, and Kiyoko. The intimacy, the care, the way everything he and Ushijima have done with each other just being so fitting. 

He rubs small circles into Ushijima’s shoulder and then moves his hand up, combing through his hair. He doesn’t mind doing this either. 

The waves crash over each other. The horizon looks beautiful. 

“Sawamura?” 

“Yes?”

“I am… happy. That this misunderstanding occurred. Would you like to come here tomorrow? There is a beach volleyball net set up at the central area.”

“That sounds fun. We’ll destroy anyone who tries to beat us!”

They watch the sun set for a few more minutes. Ushijima’s arm comes up to wrap around Daichi’s torso. He doesn’t mind. They’ve become friends now. He’s had sleepovers with Suga and Asahi. He’s slept shoulder to shoulder in cramped rooms during overpopulated team sleepovers. He’s wrapped arms around his friends, in congratulations or just because. 

He’s happy that they’re friends, he decides. He wouldn’t want it any other way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-; oh, Daichi, if you only knew Toshi really wants not a friendship but something more


	8. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> California  
> Thoughtful morning jogs  
> Unknown face, unexpected face, unwanted face  
> Sacrifice

Summer vacations in California are usually fun. Adventuring with Satori who’s always looking for new places to go, going to the Irvine Polar Bears’ practices- every hour has to be maximized for the least amount of boredom. 

Yesterday, Oikawa had returned to the Utsui household with Iwaizumi in tow, announcing that the two are now in a relationship. It was a surprise to absolutely no one that Iwaizumi would return his affections. 

Bokuto and Kuroo returned before Ushijima and Sawamura had and the two found the duo sitting on the floor in front of the fridge, waiting for them to come home so they could eat a tart without facing the Wrath of Daichi™. 

“Only one” Ushijima had said, staring down at the two who seemed to comically wilt under his gaze. “The rest are to be taken to practice tomorrow.” And then he and Sawamura proceeded to prepare another two dozen tarts. 

The next day started with Ushijima waking up at six in the morning, since he has now overcome his jet-lag. He takes a jog around the part of the city, nodding and replying to “good mornings” as he goes. It’s still strange, getting used to American customs so abruptly. It’s also strange getting used to his surroundings as well, even though they are very much familiar. The smell of the ocean in the breeze which he runs against makes him feel more and more refreshed. It also helps him really think. 

Sawamura. Sawamura Daichi. Ushijima doesn’t think he’s really felt this, but he feels a bit giddy. Excited. It feels like a game which he wishes weren’t the next week but in the next hour. He wants to do something with Sawamura. He knows he has already, but he wants to be able to do more. He feels like he isn’t doing enough. A person like Sawamura, someone so skilled and kind and unforgettable- they deserve the best. He deserves the best. Rather than aiding him in making tarts, he deserves the best meal in the world. Rather than biking after him, he deserves to be taken in a private jet to travel across the world. 

He deserves the world. 

And Ushijima will be more than happy to reach for the stars after he has given Sawamura all the world has to offer.

For the past few years, he has observed as much as he can about California. Taking in the people, the culture, the buildings. He knows the best restaurants in the area, the secluded locations in the park, the singular hidden underwater cave at the beach. His legs pump faster and he steadily avoids another jogger. 

The pier, his father had recommended to him. Ushijima had gone there only twice in his life but at nighttime, it is a beautiful location. The flowers are glorious at nighttime, the food surpasses acceptable, and all of it while watching the moon, the stars, and their reflections glistening across the ocean. As a child, he had been entranced by the stars. They were so bright and it perplexes him even to this day as to how they developed those many billions of years ago. He feels like it would be unrealistic but also quite suitable to compare Sawamura to a star- he is a mystery in himself, someone that Ushijima can only hope to get close to and fully understand. 

He reaches the end of his usual route and starts to jog around a building to start in the direction he came from. He has a few days to get everything in order. He will have to reserve a spot on the pier, ensure that there are not many people there (a weekday, then), figure out what he has to wear, arrange transportation So much to do, so little time to do it. 

Stopping off to the side of the pavement, Ushijima pulls up the hem of his shirt, tipping his head forward so that he could wipe the sweat off his brow. He looks up the sky, managing to see a flock of birds fly overhead, going in the same direction he is. He straightens himself and continues his jog, glimpses at the sky showing the birds growing smaller and smaller as they flew further ahead. 

Bokuto is the next one to wake up, stumbling downstairs after Ushijima has finished his shower. Ushijima presents him with a tart and gains a hug in return. Then comes his father, Oikawa, Kuroo, and Sawamura. 

It’s a lively morning. Bokuto insists on helping them out in the kitchen even though he is quite dubious about his friend’s skill in the kitchen. But Bokuto doesn’t try to cook anything, instead doing the prep work for them. Ushijima was quite impressed with Bokuto’s skill. He feels rather bad that he had assumed Bokuto to be clumsy in the kitchen when it is the opposite in actuality. 

“So what are we gonna do’?” Kuroo asks once they’ve sat down for breakfast. Sawamura quickly digs into his food after a quick thanks, cheeks enlarging from the amount of food held in them. It reminds Ushijima quite fondly of a squirrel. 

“Well,” Utsui drawls, raising his arm to check his watch “You guys have about five hours until we need to leave for practice.”

“Five hours” Oikawa breathes, eyes brightening “We can do so much in five hours!” His face gains a look of determination Ushijima had only ever seen on the court, and that determination is turned to him. “Waka,” Oikawa commands “what can we do in five hours around here?”

“Oh!” Sawamura exclaims through a mouthful of food. He hovers a hand over his mouth, using the other to gesture. “Ushijima said that there’s a volleyball net set up over at the beach. We can try playing?”

Utsui lets out a hearty laugh. “Is that all you boys ever think about? Volleyball? There’s a chance of rain today so I would recommend you go tomorrow. You can go shopping, though. There’s a lot of stuff that you can get here that you can’t in Japan. If you feel hungry, go and have some fast food.” Ushijima nods in agreement, continuing his meal. His father always does know the right things to say- he will have to ask him for more advice as well. 

They end up following his father’s advice. Oikawa and Kuroo are the most excited, eagerly window-shopping and forcing the whole group to follow them into stores with interesting clothing choices, forcing Ushijma to translate for them. Within the first hour, Bokuto has bout any pair of knee-length owl print socks he could find, filling a whole bag up. Kuroo buys a jacket and some discounted shirts. Oikawa gets too many items, most of which Ushijima hadn’t noticed him buy by some force. He himself indulged as well, buying himself a nice shirt and pants with the knowledge that he hadn’t bought any quality clothes with him. 

Sawamura, on the other hand, doesn’t buy anything. Ushijima is observant enough to know why, the other running around trying to choral the rest of the group before they could get lost, apologizing to the employees in accented but seamless English. After apologizing, he goes back and tugs on the back of Kuroo’s and Bokuto’s shirts to keep them from doing another childish deed. 

Ushijima stares at Sawamura for a few seconds, eyes narrowing in concentration. A shopper flinches away from him, walking a bit faster. Sawamura is scolding the two again, one hand on his hip, the other pointing at Bokuto or Kuroo before both of his arms come up to cross over his chest. Bokuto wilts a little, hair somehow seeming limper. Kuroo’s face is bright red. It’s slightly amusing to see the two crumpling under Sawamura’s command. He means no offense, but it is mainly the difference in height that makes it so amusing. 

He turns his back to the three and maneuvers through the store. He remembers seeing something, stopping in front of it for some reason, unsure as to why it had garnered his interest. Now, he appreciates the instincts of his past self as he now stops at the same spot he had stopped at a few minutes back. The corner of his lip twitches as he reaches a hand out. 

Two minutes later, he has a new purchase, carefully folded and hidden at the bottom of his bag. 

They go to a few more stores before stopping at a Taco Bell. Sawamura, Oikawa, Kuroo, and Bokuto are amazed at what a taco is, never having tried it or quesadillas before. It’s an affordable restaurant so when their order arrives after ten minutes, the whole table is crammed with food and large drinks. 

“These portions are huge!” Oikawa squawks, raising his chicken quesadilla into the air. “Wh-what is this!?”

“Cheese.” Ushijima answers, taking a bite of his taco. Oikawa’s eyes widen tremendously. Bokuto and Sawamura are both reaching for another taco already, the remains of their first being only a few stray pieces of lettuce. Sawamura has a small dot of hot sauce below his bottom lip. Strangely, Ushijima feels the urge to reach out and wipe the red away, to hear the “thanks” that would escape from Sawamura’s lip. Perhaps he would blush as well. 

“Sawamura,” Ushijima says instead, pointing to his own face. “Sauce.”

Hiding his wonder, Ushijima watches as Sawamura reaches up with a finger, wiping the sauce off. His cheeks flush red even though nothing requiring that expression has occurred. “Thank you.” Sawamura replies before wiping his hand on a napkin and continuing to eat his taco. Ushijima can’t help but stare for a few more seconds before he gives him a short nod, going back to his own food.

After many servings of greasy food, they lazy roam through a few more stores with filled stomachs before returning home, lounging around and gathering their volleyball supplies and the tarts before climbing into Utsui’s minivan. 

Practice is…amazing. Ushijima had forgotten how it feels like to practice with a professional team, much less one from another country altogether. The players have a higher mean height, their libero a few centimeters taller than Sawamura. They enter the gym while the Irvine Polar Bears are warming up, players quickly leaping into the air. One of the main differences between American and Japanese volleyball, Ushijima had come to realize, is that the American’s favor power over speed, offense over defense- although not intentionally. 

The players great him like old friends, messing his hair and fawning over the tarts before introducing themselves to the rest of the group. After the pleasantries and trying to keep Oikawa from immediately running to Iwaizumi’s side, they manage to warm up and join in the practice. 

One of the things which Ushijima is fond of doing during these practices is simply watching and learning. He smirks when Oikawa goes running to the pinch server, eagerly trying to ask him to teach him every single serve he knows in whatever random English words he manages to gather from his head. 

“You’re going to watch again?” 

Ushijima looks up to meet his father’s gaze, turning his focus back to the court as he sits next to him on the bench. Ushijima nods. 

“Yes. I believe-”

“You’ll get to watch Sawamura-kun more?” Utsui says in Japanese, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. Ushijima doesn’t feel surprised. What does surprise him is how quickly he nods in confirmation. During his research towards how the feeling of “love” and “crushes” feels like, he learned that many people are embarrassed by the feeling, especially towards the same sex. He himself had felt mildly embarrassed in the very beginning of the recognition of the emotions he felt, but he was sure it was not for the reasons his research had suggested. His foremost assumption was, and still is, was that he was simply unsure and inexperienced, which led to the internalized embarrassment. 

He watches as Sawamura jumps into the air, body twisting so that his left hand meets the ball rather than the expected right hand. It flies over the net, slamming powerfully onto the other side of the court. Two of the players start clapping, one of them whistling. The pinch server abandons Oikawa and rushes to Sawamura’s side. 

“Woah” his father says from beside him. “That’s something you don’t see everyday. Didn’t tell me that Daichi here could serve like that!”

“He can serve like that” Ushijima replies. Usually, he isn’t fond of talking more than is necessary, yet he feels as if he should say something more. Perhaps the effort Sawamura put into reaching this level of skill? How he helped Ushijima as well with his hits? Sawamura demonstrates the serve one more time and that is when Ushijima realizes that if it weren’t for the wish to learn a serve like that, he never wouldn’t of gotten so close to Sawamura. His heart thumps a little faster in his chest. 

After a few hours of practice, they return home. They order take-out for dinner, introducing the four to Japanese-American cuisine, unique in its own way but never able to live up to the traditional cuisine of their homeland. 

When they finally go to bed, Ushijima has to resist the temptation to immediately fall asleep. It’s only ten o’clock, not that late but not early either. He takes his phone out. Tomorrow is Thursday….

He reserves a spot at one of the pier’s tables, looking over tomorrow’s menu, nodding to himself in approval. His eyes grow heavier and heavier but he doesn’t let himself turn his phone off and bury under the covers until he has reserved one of the best spots, hung the nice clothes he bought so they don’t wrinkle, and mentally planned how he was going to ask Sawamura out. 

Tomorrow, he decides. The others want to take a walk around the city so he’ll try to get alone with Sawamura and casually mention it. He’ll have to tell the others first so that they have an alibi as to why they cannot come as well. 

He roles onto his side and stares at the empty section of bed. It’s too easy to imagine a face he knows so well staring at him, lips pulled into a soft curve, eyes softened with exhaustion but holding the same amount of, if not more, warmth. 

Ushijima doesn’t think he can ever love anyone else to this extent.

* * *

The next day, Ushijima tells Kuroo, Bokuto, and Oikawa about his plans. They reply enthusiastically, clapping him on the back and quickly making alibis: Oikawa will say he’s going out with Iwaizumi, Kuroo and Bokuto are going to an arcade. In reality, they’re all going to be staying here, eagerly waiting for Ushijima and Sawamura’s return. And, hopeful, a return of his affections. He voiced his concern about that- what if Sawamura doesn’t feel the same way? The three simply looked at each other, not saying a single word before telling Ushijima that Sawamura won’t let him down. 

Those four words, “won’t let him down.” One of the many flaws Ushijima knows himself to have is that he takes words as they are said literally. It isn’t immediate to him, what the variation in tone or body language may imply about a phrase. 

The group split off early on, Oikawa managing to make himself, Bokuto, and Kuroo disappear. Which leaves Ushijima…all alone…with Sawamura. 

Unlike the day before, today is sunny and bright. The sun shines down brightly, heating up the pavement to such a degree that Ushijima could feel the heat through the soles of his shoes, his toes quite literally feeling like they’re burning. He regrets the decision of wearing a jacket, even though it’s white and light, along with his t-shirt. He hadn’t wanted to risk getting sunburned, but perhaps that would of been a better alternative. 

Sawamura, on the other hand, looks as if the heat and the sun isn’t bothering him at all. 

It has now been twenty minutes of walking on their own, talking about anything that comes to mind, Sawamura leading the conversation for more than the majority of the walk. Ushijima’s breathing steadies even more, concentrating on the task at hand. 

_ Now  _ is his chance. He and Sawamura are alone. Everything has been planned and reserved. 

“Sawamura” Ushijima says, reaching a hand up to brush against the side of Sawamura’s shoulder. “May I ask you something?”The younger man nods, leading the two of them closer to the buildings so that they don’t block anyone’s path. As Sawamura leads him, Ushijima feels more and more confident. He takes a deep breath. 

“Yes? What’s up?” Sawamura asks, putting his hands in the pocket of his shorts. Ushijima nods, eyebrows lowering slightly to set into a look of concentration. 

“I was wondering if tonight, you would like to go out for dinner with me.” Sawamura blinks at him, eyelids widening just a slight bit. Ushijima’s breath catches in his throat. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, one he has never experienced before this year, but he is adjusting to both it and what it means. 

“Oh, well, I would-”

“DAICHI!?” A loud shout interrupts. Both of their heads quickly turn to look at who interrupted them. It’s a girl, with large brown eyes, lightly tanned skin, and short brown hair. She has an excited look on her face. Ushijima doesn’t recognize her but apparently Sawamura does. 

“Michimiya!?” He calls back, absolute exhilaration on his face. He turns to look at Ushijima. “I’ll be back in a second. That’s Michimiya Yui. We’ve been friends since middle school. I’ll be back in a minute.” And suddenly Sawamura is rushing towards her. Ushijima can’t help but to let out a short light chuckle. This is unexpected but not unwanted. Michimiya Yui...he has never heard the name before. Middle school? That means she has known Sawamura longer than any member on his volleyball team, current and former. He would love to hear what she says about him, as well as gain any advice as to how to earn Sawamura’s affection. 

But as he walks closer to them after giving the two a few moments of privacy, he notices something off: both Michimiya’s and Sawamura’s faces are bright red. Michimiya quickly bows before waving at Ushijima and rushing off to the opposite direction. Sawamura turns around, his phone out. 

“Sawamura?” Ushijima asks. “Is something wrong?” Did he suddenly get heatstroke? Has he overheated. 

“Hey, don’t worry” Sawamura chuckles. His face turns happy, happier than he had seemed only a minute ago, the elation at seeing an old friend overshadowed by something else. “I-I’m sorry Ushijima- I won’t be able to make to go to dinner tonight. Maybe tomorrow? We can go with the guys too, since I don’t think they have any plans.” Ushijima blinks. 

“And why is that?”

“Um, y-you see” Sawamura stutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks quite adorable. “Michimiya...it turns out she has like me for over a year now. As in romantically. She...invited me out on a date tonight, since she was never able to confess in school, so she took this chance meeting as a miracle, I guess.” A laugh exits from Sawamura’s throat. “”Gods, I’ve never been on a date before and she’s so nice and smart and I don’t even know what she sees in me!” Sawmaura rambles on but Ushijima’s mental perspective is suddenly...limited. For once in his life, he is now able to come up with a piece of figurative language that makes sense to himself:

His world is crumbling.

“Do you return her affections?” Ushijima asks. Sawamura’s rambling stops. He looks relieved. 

“This is why you’re awesome, Ushijima” Sawamura sighs, nervous expression disappearing. “You always know what to say without really knowing. I- I don’t really know. I haven’t been confessed to before but...I wouldn’t think of anyone better to start a relationship with.” His face turns red again. “And I don’t mean to be so...over-expectant, but I can really see us going far. And I know her, we’re friends, we’re comfortable with each other...I really wouldn’t mind.” Sawamura looks down for a moment and that is when Ushijima truly allows his sorrow to seep through the barricade he hadn’t even known he had put up. But within another second, Sawamura is looking up again and the barricade comes back up again, a second one reinforcing it. 

“Can you help me get ready for tonight?”

Ushijima’s expression is strained. “Of course.”

* * *

The two returned before the others did. Sawamura was going to hang out with Michimiya before going out for their actual date to catch up. Ushijima helped him get ready, as planned. Sawamura left a little after the others arrived, Ushijima leaving with him so that he could jog for an hour, two hours, around the city, hoping to be able to not think about what had happened today. 

Why is his luck so bad? Why is he unable to observe, to anticipate, to gather the willpower to do something before he loses that chance? Just like he did now. His legs pump paster and faster, even when they feel numb and burn, thighs burning, throat raw and begging for air, tongue dry and eyes stinging from the sweat that pours down from his forehead. 

Before he heads home, he stops at the beach, sitting down where the sand meets the water, feeling the waves wet the parts of him which touch the ground, the feeling of sand slipping out from under him doing nothing to slow his running mind. 

When he reaches home again, it is Bokuto who greets him at the door. The man has so many emotions clearly written across his face, concern visible even to Ushijima. He wonders how it is to feel like that, to be able to feel so much concern it bleeds, to love so freely, to care for others and be cared for equally in return. To have people come running to you for company rather than fleeing. To make jokes with rather than have jokes made about. 

“Wakatoshi” Bokuto says. “Daichi, he said that-”

“I’m taking a shower” Ushijima says, cutting him off before he could finish. Not now, not ever. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t love him anyway.” He shoves past his friend. Unexpectedly, a hand snaps out and grips his arm. 

“ _ No _ .” Bokuto growls. “Kuroo, Oikawa- they told me to let you be. But they don’t understand. Daichi got asked out. He said yes. You’re thinking that that girl, she loves Daichi more than you do, but that’s not true. You’re hurting Ushijima, you really are. I can see it. I mean, you look horrible!” He cries out, using his free hand to gesture at Ushijima. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” Ushijima looks to the side, eyes focusing on a picture of himself hanging from the wall. He can’t take Bokuto’s gaze for much longer. 

“It was a one time thing” Ushijima mutters. “It is fine.”

“You told me that you don’t think you’ll ever love anyone as much as you loved Daichi” Bokuto says, expression serious. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ go with the ‘If I love him I’ll let him go’ tactic. Don’t you  _ dare _ hurt yourself like that.

“It may look like you don’t really  _ get  _ what’s going on at times, but surely you understand what’s going on here! You’ve been so-so” Bokuto searches for the word “ _ eager _ , all this time! It’s been obvious for  _ months  _ how you feel about Daichi, so much that your own friend had to send you a book just so that you could figure things out! And I can tell this is making you happy- you’re happier, anyone can see that. And Daichi is too. You shouldn’t let yourself lose just because of a girl he hadn’t seen in months!” Ushijima stares at Bokuto, eyes narrowing and forcing himself not to blink. 

“How did you learn about Michimiya?” He asks. Bokuto looks a bit guilty but persists. 

“Well, Daichi told us when he got back.”

“And he was happy.” 

“Yes! Wait-no!” Bokuto corrects himself, waving his hands. “Dude, this is going to  _ hurt  _ you? How many times do I have to say that!? Think about yourself. And even Daichi-”

“It may hurt me” Ushijima says, cutting Bokuto of before he could continue his rambling. He doesn’t understand why Bokuto is interfering- it’s not as if he’s also part of this relationship. He should not place interest in things he has no place in. His throat constricts, guilt flashing through his mind. “It may hurt me, but it won’t hurt Daichi. He won’t have to reject a friend who he doesn’t love as much as someone else. He won’t have to stop a relationship that has barely begun just so that I could remain happy and his dreams ruined.” He meets Bokuto’s gaze. His eyes prickle. “He told me that he could see himself going far with her. And perhaps...not just, far, but forever.” And Bokuto’s arms are wrapped around him and for the first time in decades, Wakatoshi cries, fingers gripping the back of Bokuto’s shirt, sobs coming out small, wet, quiet, and ragged. He grows limp in Bokuto’s hold, letting the other hold and comfort him, reminding him of nights curled on a futon with someone else, warm spiced hot chocolate and large brown eyes, firm grip and glittering eyes, a face only centimeters away from his in the solitude of night. 

Ushijima is no romantic, as is obvious, and he is obvious, and he is no protagonist of the shojo manga that Eita and Oikawa are fond of. But if there is one thing he knows for sure, remaining true even as his heart shatters:

_ I will never be able to let go of him.  _

  
  
  


_  
_ _  
_ _ \-----------------------------------end of part one--------------------------------------------------------- _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oho- you thought this wouldn't be a _real_ slow burn? You thought that this chapter would be when Ushijima would be able to get his confession out and the romance will start? I do apologize, but that has yet to happen as 40,000 words only Part 1 has ended. You have gotten Ushijima nearly confessing, romance starting, but not between the right people.


	9. Saudade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Saudade: a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves.... it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. It is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, and well-being, which now trigger the senses and make one experience the pain of separation from those joyous sensations. However it acknowledges that to long for the past would detract from the excitement you feel towards the future._
> 
> Saudade _describes both happy and sad at the same time, which is most closely translated to the English saying ‘bitter sweet’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA in which Ushijima gets more members in his little family
> 
> LETS GOOOOOO! PART 2! (hides in a corner and cries while holding UshiDai fanart) Maybe...hopefully.....after 40,000 words....something will finally happen?
> 
> Also: Warning in advance…I’ve realized I’ve written this fic like a shojo manga? This chapter even more so than the previous ones. I also accidentally go on about a one-shot length rant about Ushijima’s lust??? But it’s a little more and less innocent than that at the same time????????

_ Two years later…  
_ _ March 2015 _

Compared to his last living establishment, this location makes him feel a bit sad. Even though the floor was worn and the walls plain, his college dorm was quick to be decorated by small plants, books, photos, and more miscellaneous items which he had gathered over the two years it took him to get his bachelor's degree. 

He is proud of himself, even though he had no doubts that he would make it this far (and even further into the future). Of course, this place is larger because it’s not a one-room affordable dorm, but a small apartment. The hardwood looks new and unused, the walls white with shelving in the small living room. The kitchen is decent and the bedroom is a little larger than the size of his old dorm. In all honesty, it’s a bit overwhelming. But… he guesses a good apartment is what he gets with being one of the newest members of Japan’s most popular Division 1 V-League team, the Schweiden Adlers. 

To be honest, he had expected it to take him longer to reach where he is now with the path he had set out for himself: approximately two more years. Alas, he admitted to himself that he was a weak man, something akin to a coward. He also admitted that to Bokuto, the sole person, it seemed, who continued to pressure Ushijima to do something with Sawamura, to make a move on him regardless of the fact that he’s in a healthy, stable relationship with a woman who Ushijima indirectly re-introduced her to. 

Over the past two years, Ushijima was no stranger to finding himself hoping that something heated would happen that would disrupt what the couple has, but he’d underestimated just how stable Sawamura was outside of the court. The memory of that certain characteristic brings forth an onslaught of feelings and urges and sweet temptations that Ushijima can no longer take the risk of indulging. And Sawamura and Michimiya make a wonderful couple, so wonderful that even that Ushijima cannot deny how perfectly they suit each other. Michimiya is as gentle and sweet as Sawamura is and it wasn’t long before Ushijima somehow found himself being dragged with the couple to various restaurants and stores which he never knew could even exist, all the while never feeling like he was the third wheel. Yes, the two would have their romantic moments such as hand-holding, standing much too close, sharing food too easily. It wasn’t bothersome. It wasn’t overwhelming or uncomfortable like what was portrayed in the movies. The two just existed with each other, their very beings balancing each other out so very easily and perfectly. 

If Ushijima had been faster, if he had had more courage, he would have prevented the formation of something as beautiful as what the two now have, the emotions the two feel for each other more than he ever could have handled. 

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone ringing. Not for the first time, Ushijima berates himself. He’s not a lovesick fool anymore (he’s never going to be a lovesick fool ever again). He needs to keep his thoughts about Sawamura as a motivator alone and not as something which always comes to the forefront of his mind, which takes over all rationale and becomes all that he thinks about even at moments he doesn’t mean for it to take over.  _ No longer a lovesick fool my ass  _ he could hear the ghost of Kuroo’s voice taunt in his head as his heart beats a little faster and his mind becomes calmer when he sees the kanji on the screen.

_ “Daichi” as in ground and “Sawamura” as in swamp and village.  _

“Sawa-” he barely manages to get out before being interrupted. 

“YOU NEVER CALLED ME! YOU  _ LIAR _ !” Ushijima’s lips twitch. 

“I assume you heard the news from Kageyama?”

“Yes, I made sure to congratulate him until he couldn’t even get a clear word past all the stuttering.” Sawamura sounds amused and very proud of himself, a smirk probably gracing his features. He hears movement on the other side, the sound of his friend’s breathing being the only thing that he can hear “Ushijima? You still there?”

“Ah, yes.” Ushijima walks to the couch, sitting down and resting an arm on the armest, crossing his legs and leaning his other elbow against the back of the couch. “I was busy unpacking.”

“For the whole day?”

“....yes.” Ushijima can just imagine what Sawamura is going to do next. If he’s standing, he’s going to start pacing. If he’s sitting, he’s going to tip his head back. Then, he’s going to pinch the bridge of his nose before using the same hand to rub his cheek. His eyes would close and he’ll smile before letting out a small laugh. 

Sawamura lets out a small laugh. Suddenly, Ushijima feels free. He feels more relaxed than he had been for the three days of try-outs. Limbs loosening even further, he sinks deeper into the corner of the couch he had placed himself in. 

“I can’t believe you!” Sawamura says, voice light and cheery. “Here I am, eagerly wondering how much Schweiden Adlers merch I should buy, which jersey number I should hang on my wall, and whether I need to buy an annual pass for the Shinkansen and local airline service. Oh! Or should I start making Ushi-Bears-”

“Ushi-Bears?” Ushijima lets out a small huff of laughter that sounds more like a slight giggle than a breathy noise. “Also, I do not believe that you need to spend so much-”

“Ushijima teddy bears,” he answers as if it were obvious. “And I have to spend that much!” Sawamura exclaims. “You’re one of my best friends, if not my best friend at this point, Ushijima. If it’s to support you, I’d go ahead and get anything I could with your face on it just to tease you.” His tone dies down, losing some of the exuberance to turn into something more modest. “You’re” he hesitates, “It’s painful, not having you here. Sure, it’s amazing having Oikawa, Bokuto, and Kuroo around, but you were sort of the calm of the storm if you get what I mean. But even if you decided to go ahead and beat all of us to getting a degree,” Ushijima masks a laugh as a couch, “that doesn’t make you any different” Sawamura warns. “I’m still going to call and text, I’m totally going to go into mother-hen mode and annoy the hell out of everyone, you most of all.”

Ushijima hums. “I do not believe you will ever be able to annoy me, Sawamura.”

“I can always try, but that’s beside the point.” He images Sawamura pouting at this point. “Ushijima...If you need anything,  _ anything  _ at all, be it a hug, someone to talk to in person, someone to just hang out with, don’t be afraid to call me.  _ Please _ .”

Ushijima’s breath hitches, his heart seeming to move into his throat and feel like it’s stopped due to how fast it’s beating. 

“S-Sawamura,” he stutters, “there’s no need for you to be so concerned about me-”

“But I am!” The passion flares in his voice before it’s snapped away like the flame on a matchstick on a cold, windy day. “Aren’t we...that’s what friends do. I thought-”

“Sawamura,” Ushijima closes his eyes. “Please don’t stop being friends with me. I promise to call you and request assistance if I am in need of any. I propose the same offer to you, although I do not believe you will have any need for it with Michimiya-kun by your side.” 

“...thank you, Ushijima. I can’t keep on going to my girlfriend because she lives like an hour away from here. Plus, don’t tell her this but I feel just a tad bit safer with big and strong Ushijima at my side” Sawamura jokes. And just like that, the other man has managed to get Ushijima’s heart racing again, cheeks burning and probably a bright red. His chin rests against his chest, his free hand quickly covering his face out of embarrassment. He’s so happy nobody else is here to trouble him about his discomfiture, regardless of the cause of it being well-meant. He’s willing to bet that Oikawa, at least, would make a comment. 

And suddenly, Ushijima’s good mood is slightly dampened. He doesn’t think he’ll really get used to living alone again. He was used to the isolation, the silence, the monotony which had caused even volleyball to lose its shine. And then he turned sixteen. He had not one, not two, but  _ three  _ good friends at his side, pulling him through his first year of high school before he leads them the rest of the way. Two years of college, with people who he quickly grew closer than he ever had before. And then….all of those attachments. His own wants, his own greed, has snatched them away. He keeps in contact with Satori very easily, since it’s almost always the other man who sends the first text. As for Semi and Reon….Semi is busy with music school and his band, and Reon is balancing both a volleyball career and a job. It hurts him how their ties have lengthened but at least they haven’t faded away into anything. 

He has no doubt that even if his connections with Kuroo, Oikawa, and Bokuto fade, they’ll never disappear. Bokuto and Oikawa are too entwined with volleyball, snared by its grasp just like how Ushijima is. And Sawamura...he’s never had any doubts about him. 

He’s sure, that of all the people he knows, Sawamura’s the only one who will ever make him rethink all of his decisions as long as the other man is involved.

“Then perhaps you should live with me rather than her once you graduate,” Ushijima jokes, voice taking on a thoughtful tone. It’s a bold move, one he instantly regrets, but one that he’s sure that Sawamura takes as a joke. Now that he’s sure that Sawamura has never viewed Ushijima in a romantic light and will never do so, chances of him misinterpreting any of Ushijima’s words as anything other than platonic are probably close to zero. 

“Hmm- I think I’ll  _ definitely  _ consider that. I will get to bug you and Kageyama a lot more.” Sawamura muses. Ushijima nods to himself. “And even if I don’t, you better give me a house key so I can drop over any time I want.”

“I definitely will,” Ushijima replies, feeling a bit mischievous. “I have tasted your cooking and although it is acceptable, I do not want to risk you getting high blood pressure, heart diseases, diabetes-”

“Okay, okay! I get the point!” The other man yelps. Ushijima laughs, smirking to himself. 

“As you should.” They last only one more second until both of them are laughing, Ushijima bending over himself with his elbows forced to rest on his knees, grip tightening on the phone, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his rumbling laughter. It contrasts with Sawamura’s laughter, surprisingly much higher pitched than one would expect from someone with his vocal pitch. The laughter naturally dies down and Ushijima feels content. The conversation has reached an end, the path it took twisting and turning until an end was reached. There’s no awkward silence, no urge to say something else. No- it feels complete. 

“I will text you later. Regular practice begins tomorrow, so I will tell you how that goes. Have a good night, Sawamura.”

“You too, Wakatoshi.” The call ends. 

Even though Sawamura takes everything platonically, Ushijima wonders if there will ever be a day if his heart won’t beat faster at a single comment Sawamura makes. Turning off his phone and setting it on the table, Ushijima finds himself staring at the medium-sized TV on the wall before burying his face in his hands. 

There’s a selfish part of Ushijima, a darkness in him that yearns so  _ much _ . Claws of darkness which wishes to grasp the rope that binds him by the neck to Sawamura. To defy the laws, the constraints that society has set forth for him. Because it’s all a challenge. In the end, everything is just a wall he has to overcome. To get to success, to get to greatness, to get to love even. The path he’s going down, he loves it. And there are so many things wrong with it, he knows, but he usually defeats all the faults that decide to emerge. Perhaps he is a lovesick fool, that fool which his friends and family probably want him to bury. Because what do they want? They want him to be happy, to be able to live his life without Sawamura, without the love he feels for him. O find another man or woman, someone who will make him happier. But no- he’s too selfish for that, much too selfish and greedy and trapped in the embrace of avarice to do anything else. And that greed, it’ll lead him to a day in which that fool with finally be buried because that impossible dream will become a reality, be it in a month, in a year, in a decade, in the afterlife. The world, he’ll bring it to his knees if he’ll have to, he’ll take the noose off his own neck and use it to control fate itself. Pleasure, desire, privilege: none of it matters if he doesn’t get what he wants. 

Mad love, foolish love, lust. An obsession. That’s what strangers would say about the darkness in Ushijima, part of the core of what he feels for the man he loves (it’s not love, they’ll repeat). The wounds have already started to scar him and if he ever gets what he truly wants, his soul will have become a battlefield of whatever it took to get the rope around the neck of another.

But if that part….if that part of him truly took over, not wanting any of the little things he feels when he looks at him, the small smiles, the inside jokes, and memories. The glory, the pride, of having Sawamura on his knees before him and not that  _ woman _ . In his own mind, he’d be like a king surrounded by all of his wants with the only person who could truly satisfy him submitting before him. 

That’s...that’s the part of himself which he doesn’t want to exist. It’s something so primitive and dangerous. He can’t imagine doing anything of that sort to even the worst of criminals, Sawamura especially. To know that a part of him  _ wants  _ that, enough that it’s no longer subconscious but being acknowledged by himself is nothing short of disturbing. The guilt that flashes is quickly quelled by, ironically, thoughts about Sawamura. 

He would...he would never ask of it in real life, in actuality, but if he were to desire Sawamura to do that, he would willingly do that, probably with a smile on his face. Or he would look at Ushijima not with disgust or fear, but with concern.  _ “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Did something happen? Is something bothering you? You can tell me the truth, you know.”  _ And he...he’d never let Ushijima stray from the unintentional righteous path he’s been walking most of his life. He’d hold his hand and force him, dragging him if he refused to move. His world would never be allowed to become dark because however stubborn Ushijima would ever want to be, Sawamura will always beat him tenfold at that task. His world will always have a light in it, regardless of whether he wants it or not. 

And then there’s the heartbreak that he’s never going to heal from because just as much as he can’t keep that darkness from existing, he can’t keep a part of himself from opening the wound over and over again until instead of scarring, it remains forever open. And every time he thinks about it, instead of feeling better about it, instead of the memory becoming bitter-sweet, it just hurts even more and all that sweetness and care and love which he felt over the phone is still there but it’s  _ crumbling  _ and suddenly it hurts so damn much. 

“When will you do something to make me stop loving you” Ushijima whispers. 

“ _ Daichi.” _

* * *

Ushijima discovers that even though he’s one of the two most recent members of the Schweiden Adlers, he gains two people who are what Satori would probably call “his baby ducklings”. Kageyama Tobio and Hoshiumi Kourai. 

He never considered himself to ever be close to them- before this week, he’d never been acquainted with either of them either before all this time. But now, they follow him. Ushijima’s first season with the Schweiden Adlers is Hoshiumi’s second. Even though Ushijima is merely a year older than him, it doesn’t require the amount of attention he is giving him. At least it doesn’t start to match the amount of time that Kageyama spends following him. It would seem more likely if it were Hoshiumi taking Kageyama’s place as head “duckling”, being a spiker and all, but Kageyama. A setter. Following Ushijima with a ball held between his hands, seemingly having forgotten the animosity Ushijima had looked at him with so many years ago due to his belief that he was just another first year with baseless confidence. 

With a passion that had spread to him from his former roommates, Ushijima made sure he would watch Nationals and the Miyagi Prefectural for the high school circuit. He was able to watch as the confidence he had once deemed to be rootless, spontaneous, having nothing to explain or reason it became something which was supposed to be, to exist. Although he still disliked that orange-hair child Sawamura was fond of (and Kageyama as well, it seemed), he grudgingly grew to recognize Kageyama’s immense skill as a setter. And to be on the same team as someone of his skill was quite satisfying. Division 1 teams are, after all, to be made of the best of the best. 

“Heya, Wakatoshi!” Hoshiumi exclaimed. “Can you show me that serve again?”

“Can I set to you?” Kageyama said, eyes shining. 

“Wait up for me!”

“That-that was a really nice jump.”

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NICE KILL!!!!!”

“Perfect.”

Two years ago, Ushijima could have never imagined himself being this social (even though he still wouldn’t be considered a very social person). He never would have been able to interpret an obvious expression as an obvious emotion. Many people, he knows, have a very similar first reaction to him upon truly meeting him. Strong. Tall. Intimidating. Unobservant. Dense. He thinks only the first two apply to himself, perhaps the third. But he has grown to become observant and he can recognize other people's feelings, certainly making him not dense. These developments in his person have allowed him to identify the amusement on the senior player's faces, to make out the quiet jokes, and identify smirks that only appear when both Hoshiumi and Kageyama are trailing or talking to him as being aimed towards either him or all three of them. 

It was a bit endearing, how Kageyama and Hoshiumi behaved towards him, almost as if he were someone deserving the amount of awe at which they stared at him with, eyes almost constantly glimmering from how wide their gazes would be, perfect for reflecting the gym lights. 

Of course, he  _ almost  _ called Sawamura- the man had reinforced, an innumerable amount of times, to contact him anytime he needed to talk or ask about something. Consideration struck him in the last few seconds of finding the man’s name in his contact list and before he could, he decided to stop at Oikawa’s name and call him instead. The man also has experience dealing with Kageyama, he remembers. They had gone to the same middle school and had gotten along fairly well during the quick matches they played after the end of their first collegiate volleyball tournament in their first year. 

Oikawa doesn’t pick up. 

Pushing the topic to the back of his head, Ushijima goes and starts preparing for dinner, making sure he cooks enough for tomorrow as well since it was a stroke of luck that practice ended early enough tonight to allow him to cook a filling meal. 

Laptop resting on the kitchen countertop, he gives himself five minutes to find a recipe he can make with the items he has on hand, not being in the mood to go out and walk to a store to get an ingredient or two. He finds a Russian recipe he remembers using before for one of his cooking courses: blini, a sugarless crepe-like food that is relatively easy to make and can be spread with either sweet or savory toppings. It’s relatively easy to make it sweet, even with the absence of whipped cream. He takes a stand mixer and pours heavy cream into the bowl, whisking in a few spoons of sugar before setting the speed to low. Watching over the liquid while occasionally increasing the speed, he waits until the liquid becomes dense enough that it won’t go flying out of the bowl once he’s not supervising. Then he hunts through the fridge, gathering the few strawberries and blueberries he has left, washing the fruit before getting starting on slicing the strawberries. 

Of course, his cell rings while he’s trying to finely slice the last small bit of a strawberry, leading to a thin cut on his finger which resembles a papercut. 

“Oikawa” he answers, putting the phone on speaker after rinsing his finger. 

“Toshi-kun!” Oikawa exclaims through the speaker. “I saw your missed call- do you miss my presence that much already? I don’t think I’ll mind seeing your place.” 

“I do not miss your presence at all, Oikawa. I find it rather peaceful.”

“Ah!” Oikawa squawks as Ushijima turns off the stand mixer, gently removing the mixers and setting them on a clean surface of the countertop so he can lick the whipped cream off of it later, putting the bowl of the topping in the fridge so that it doesn’t melt. “Critical hit! Anyway, to answer your question, I’ve been doing  _ wonderful _ . The fifth room remains sadly empty this term as well so it’s like a ghost gathering ground over there. The fridge is slowly filling out with takeout containers and, once again, all of us are on the first line with you out of the running.”

Ushijima nods to himself. “That is very nice. I as well am on the first line since there aren’t any second or third lines.” Oikawa laughs. 

“ _ Wooow _ \- here I am, lamenting the loss of my sole provider of sustenance, while you make fun of me and are probably cooking something good.”

“Oikawa, it is not my fault that you are unable to bake even milk bread. As for your second question, it is blini which I am making.”

“Blini?”

“It’s Russian.”

“ _ Ah _ , I see. Anyway, ignoring the sumptuous food you probably aren’t going to share with me, what’s up?” Ushijima stills his hand. The motions of prepping and cooking always came to him easily, almost as easily as how his body moves when he plays volleyball. At some point, he’d gotten the flour from the cabinets and had started hand mixing the eggs and milk into it. Quickly, he hunts for how he wants to phrase what will come out of his mouth next. Now and days, he usually does not need to think before he speaks, a bad habit that formed when he was uncomfortable socializing as a child which only led to further isolation from his peers. 

“Kageyama Tobio, if you were not aware, was accepted into the Schweiden Adlers-”

“Mmh, I know that.” Oikawa interrupts. “Dai-chan told all us. Go on.”

“It seems like he and another player have decided to follow me in a similar fashion to how,” he hesitates to use the metaphor, “the best comparison would be to a duckling following their parent.”

Oikawa is silent for a few seconds. Ushijima is worried the connection was cut but that is before his laugh comes cackling and screeching, causing the audio to cackle and for Ushijima to regret calling Oikawa instead of any of his other friends. He should have called Reon, giving the two a reason to talk after so many weeks. 

“Oi-”

“SORRY SORRY!” Oikawa wheezes. “Pfft- don’t worry about it. Even at eighteen….Tobio-chan used to do that to me. I found it hella annoying but I admit it was pretty cute. Just...I’ll just tell you the same thing Iwa-chan told me back then: don’t ignore them, treat them normally, and make sure they don’t get any special treatment.”

“That is common sense. Iwaizumi had to tell you that-”

“AHAHAHAHAHGJOGNSOGINDHOINHD be quiet, Ushiwaka! Do you want to talk or not?” He resigns himself, the corner of his lip twitching before he grips the spatula and continues to mix the batter while Oikawa rants about kouhai and how to properly treat them. Ushijima tunes back into the conversation when he’s ready to cook the batter, topics quickly switching. By the time Ushijima reluctantly agrees with Oikawa to end the call, he has gained an interest in computer video gaming which he never actually developed, a list of games that Oikawa recommended sectioned away in his head. The last one he’d mentioned was a free music-related game called  _ Osu _ . 

A small stack of blini is prepared, whipped cream spread, berries, and strawberries spread. Just like every other day of this week, it’s lonely when he sits down at the table but the memory of the enjoyably long conversation he had with Oikawa keeps his mind running and his emotions light and warm. The whipped cream has a bit too much sugar- it makes the food all the more enjoyable.

* * *

“Y’know, Ushijima-kun, even though volleyball isn’t a sport that conveys emotions super well, like figure skating, if you know what to look for, you can figure out some pretty essential stuff based off of the feeling a player puts into their moves.”

That’s only one of the many random things that Ushijima’s new captain, Hirugami Fukurou, says to him. The man has quite the habit of sneaking up on Ushijima when he least expects it- intentional or not, he has yet to determine. He fumbles the ball which he’d been bouncing, getting ready to practice another serve. 

Hirugami- captain and middle blocker of the Schweiden Adlers. He has short light brown hair, a caramel-like color, and chestnut eyes. The start of either a beard or a day of not shaving shows at the edges of his jaw. In the one month that he has known the older man, the foremost thought that comes to mind if you were to ask him how to describe the blocker would be that he’s what Ushijima would expect an older brother would be like. He’s kind, serious when he has to be, and a strange mellowed mix between Kuroo’s, Bokuto’s, and Sawamura’s personalities. He’s very supportive and is very keen on winning this season since they lost to the EJP Raijin last season. He is especially intent on defeating the MSBY Black Jackals for some reason, a team that reminds Ushijima strangely of Karasuno. High school memories have already started becoming very distant for him, feeling like they happened a decade ago rather than two to five years. 

“Is there something else you mean by that?” Ushijima replies. More often than none, sentences like this often have a double meaning. He has long since learned that besides being a volleyball family, the Hirugami family is also quite intelligent. In one of his (many) attempts at  _ team bonding _ , Hirugami had once made them say a few facts about themselves. During high school, besides volleyball, the man had also taken college courses so he scarcely had to spend any time at university while also being a player on the Schweiden Adlers. The college courses were specifically on psychology which Ushijima found strangely ironic considering the position the man plays. He appreciates the effort made by the man to ask questions the way he does because it just seems more interesting and personal while also not sounding intrusive. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” Hirugami asks with a grin that seems to be a photocopy of Kuroo’s. “I’m just really curious. As your captain, it was my responsibility to learn as much about your playing style as I could. I don’t mean any offense or anything, but you seem a lot more expressive and open than you were in high school, from what I could tell and ask.”

Ushijima’s head tips slightly to the side.  _ Love _ . Has he ever been in love? He never  _ has  _ been, he still  _ is  _ in love. 

“ _ Jeune amour”  _ Hirugami sighs. Ushijima looks at him quizzically. Was that gibberish supposed to mean something? The man notices his confused look. “Ah, sorry! I took French instead of English as a foreign language.  _ Jeune amour:  _ it means ‘young love’. So, before your followers come back from the bathroom, how was she like? I used to have a girlfriend who’s pretty cute and I have a good half-foot of her which just makes her even more adorable in my eyes. We’re still good friends, though, so don’t go complaining about me trying to be a homewrecker.” 

Tucking the volleyball under an arm, Ushijima wipes the sweat off his brow. “Yes. He’s a close friend. I... still love him, you could say,” Ushijima says. “But he has a girlfriend.” No stranger to knowing of homophobia, Ushijima expects any of a wide variety of reactions from his senpai. To his delight and relief, Hirugami looks at him sympathetically, placing a hand on Ushijima’s shoulder. 

“You still have a chance,” Hirugami assures, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. “I bet she’s got nothing on you.” Ushijima looks at the court, eyes not quite focusing on anything, just taking in the light-colored court, white border, and dark surrounding floor. His expression shifts from its usual expressionless default position, lips curling slightly into a soft smile. 

“They’ve been dating for two years,” he says. Hirugami’s eyes widen slightly. 

“Before or after you-”

“After.”

“.....and you’re smiling?”

“Yes,” Ushijima says with a conformational nod. “He is happier than he was before. That is all I really wish for him: to be happy.” And before he knows it, he’s suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. It’s short, only lasting a few seconds, but it succeeds in somehow making him feel even more belonging with the Adlers than he was before. 

“Ushijima...if the world had more men like you, we would have no need for heaven. You’re too good for this world. May the gods bless you with better relationship luck.”

“Thank you, Hirugami-san,” Ushijima says with a slight bow. He sees the gym doors leading to the bathroom hall burst open, nearly slamming against the side walls. Kageyama and Hoshiumi spring through, panting as if they just completed a five-set game without any breaks in-between. 

“YAY! I WON!” Hoshiumi exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. Kageyama glowers at him. 

“No,  _ I  _ did,” he growls. His eyes brighten when they land on Ushijima and regardless of how exhausted the setter probably is, he is quick to stand before Ushijima. “Ushijima-san! I was the one who came here first, right? I beat Hoshiumi.”

“Nuh-uh!” Hoshiumi marches over, face beat red from exertion. “I did!"

“ _ No _ \- you lie.”

“No,  _ you  _ lie!”

“I was unable to see, as I was talking to Hirugami-san. My apologies,” Ushijima says, even though he’s pretty sure Hoshiumi was the one who took the first step onto the surrounding area of the court. “Alert me next time you race so that I may properly determine the victor.”

“Great!” Hoshiumi cheers. Kageyama nods in agreement. “Now, help us with our serves~”

* * *

“H-Hirugami-san!”

“At ease, Kageyama. No need to be so uptight! Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Ask me a question!”

“Ah, sure. Have you ever been in love, Kageyama-kun?”

“...I think I have a boyfriend?”

“............”

“..........”

“You  _ think _ !?!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really heavy on Ushijima analysis. As in the guy just gets strangled with psychology and stuff. But, I guess it’s fine? It’s nice to explore all of the aspects of a human and to look at the parts people don't really address because even in the best of people, there is darkness which shouldn’t really be called darkness, and people just chose to ignore it in favor of the better parts of humanity. It’s just something unexpected and- okay, fine, it’s dark- like lust, greed, obsession. So, a little less than 2000 words in at the end of the beginning part of this chapter, the sudden analysis of Ushijima’s greed? The lust and want which he feels? Well…...it’s based a lot from this amazing French song featured in this AMV: [La gloire à mes genoux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SUZUPr8kuY). This song...well...it fits the theme. It’s dark, you could say? My French, for how long I’ve been learning it on Duolingo (I’ve been on a 1 yr hiatus tho roughly….) is still really rudimentary so maybe I misinterpreted. But I’m pretty sure I quote the song but in translation…
> 
> also, yes, I play osu! My username is valfayette if you wanna friend me  
> Also....plz join my discord- it be lonely: [Nifty Discord you should totally join](https://discord.gg/ySvGkthhn6)


	10. ひふんこうがい (Hifunkougai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ひふんこうがい (Hifunkougai): A Japanese word that can be translated to righteous, miserable anger. It can also be a feeling of frustration or despair over a situation that is perceived as terrible and cannot be changed, such as betrayal or government corruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 Chapter 2

Ushijima doesn’t know why all of a sudden his life is revolving around  _ love _ , as if he were suddenly in the middle of a mid-life crisis except much too early in his life to be called that. It was triggered by his mother calling him. They had talked for a little over half an hour. Neither of them were particularly chatty, each other’s company having been enough whenever Ushijima was home, the cozy silence being gently interrupted here and there by easy flowing conversation. The interesting part of the conversation had been her passively mentioning that she had been on the phone with his father before calling him.

For anyone, that would be considered normal. But his parents are divorced. That doesn’t change anything but it simply reminded Ushijima of more confusing times and thus sent him down a rabbit-hole of thoughts and feelings. 

When he was a child, he had been confused and angry and sad when his parents were divorced. What made it even worse for him, probably messing up his emotional processing permanently, was the fact that his parents held no ill thoughts towards each other. No, they were best friends before they got married, best friends during their marriage, and although there was a few-week long lull after the divorce, they were back to being best friends afterward. It was very strange, to his little eyes and still-developing brain. Over time, he got over the sadness and the confusion that came with the knowledge that rarely will his mother and father be in the same home anymore. But even with all of that, one of the things he was certain of-  _ is  _ certain of- is that his parents love each other. 

The Greeks said that there are three different types of love: eros, philia, and agape. If he had known of those words back then, then he probably would have thought of his parents’ love as being eros, except his innocent mind wouldn’t have considered the more explicit requirements for that form of love. But as he sees it now, what they have with each other is philia (and it makes him internally flinch when he dares to graze the surface of thought in regards to how he himself came to be with that type of love). As is with many things, his mind is quick to follow that rabbit hole, to examine the three. What he has with Tendou is philia. They haven’t seen each other in person in years, yet their bond remains strong and glistening over the kilometers between them. Eros, he knows from basic foreign mythology, is the Greek god who provides an origin for the more popular variation, the Roman Cupid.    
  
In middle school, they had a week-long project in world history in which students could either individually, or with a partner, research the mythology of a non-Japanese religion that interested them. He remembres many of his classmates chose monotheistic religions such as Christianity or Islam, intrigued and also confused by the idea of only one god and such strict beliefs to follow. The majority of people, though, chose African or Greek mythology as those tended to be more popular and interesting and easier to relate to. Ushijima had been the only one to go to Indian mythology since he had found it very interesting at the time that there were gods who were blue. Even though he could use the tales of Krishna and Radha or Sita and Rama as a comparison, at the moment, the only story that comes to mind is that of Apollo and Daphne that he thinks a pair of linguistically talented girls had talked about as part of their Greek mythology presentation. 

In its simplest form, it is a tragedy. The god Apollo had been in love with a virgin forest nymph by the name of Daphne. When the pseudo god of love, Eros, had discovered this, he had decided to intervene with mischief. He had stuck Apollo with an arrow that made him lust intensely over Daphne. Eros then struck Daphne with an arrow which made her absolutely repulsed by Apollo who had decided to chase her until she prayed to the river god to keep the god away from her. Granting her prayer, the river god turned Daphne into the first laurel tree. 

The moral of the story, in his eyes, was that eros leads to disappointment and sadness. To heartbreak. Well aware of what can be produced through a certain eros form of intercourse, there had been a few minutes when he had blamed himself for his parents’ separation. That because he had been produced by their eros-

But there had never been any. How could there be a product when the key catalyst was never there? Thus he was saved from years of worthless pondering. 

Besides eros and philia, there is agape. It is pure, and Ushijima loves it. He loves it because there is only one person to who he thinks that precious word can be applied. Selfless, sacrificial, unconditional. He’s sure that Sawamura feels nothing more than friendship towards him, perhaps even like a brother or cousin if he’s lucky. Perhaps it’s due to this supposed selflessness that comes with that high form of love that Ushijima finds himself content with the distance between them, Sawamura’s heart being devoted to another, and the ache in his heart reminding him of who the gods decided he would wholly and exclusively fall for. 

So he would play the role of the longing man in all the stories, the one with the bleeding heart that loves and loves and loves the princess only to have her tell him that his love will never be returned. He’s smart enough to know not to ask, to hold out against his friends until even Bokuto stopped pestering him to make a move. The downfall of the prince with the bleeding heart was that he went and professed his love. Ushijima already has two advantages over that character. For one, he’s not a prince and is thus spared that stereotypical arrogance. Second, he’s smart enough to not make the rejection be spoken into the air, to become real and tangible and not a figment of his imagination, a product of his dreams during his unconscious state at night. 

It’s been a while since he’s moved into this apartment and it’s starting to look much cozier. Picture frames were one of the first things he had bought and now they  _ litter  _ the apartment. He had spent a good few hours measuring the frames before going through his phone and uploading images onto his laptop, downloading free software to make the image quality improve before taking his device to a store to get the photos printed. It took almost all the bite off of the loneliness, that and plus the fact that the Schweiden Adlers are a surprisingly clingy team for how mature and serious they look on a screen.    
  
Anyway, the photographs. 

Usually, the man likes to be nice and organized but it seems like ever since he turned twenty, he seemed to become more like a teenager than he ever had been during the years that holds actual claim to that title. Procrastinating on washing his clothes was both relieving and frustrating, microwavable meals are a blessing, and spare change now randomly litters his home for him to pick up because unhealthy vending machine food is surprisingly delicious and saves him five minutes of walking to the corner store. Just like how he had let go of his usual day-to-day habits, he did the same to the photos. There’s no order or anything as to where they’re placed, no grouping of photos of the same person like a shrine. No, he just makes sure that everywhere he looks, except for the bathroom, there is a photo of a friend, a photo that makes him smile. 

In his kitchen is a photo Satori had sent him which his chocolatier mentor had taken of him, dressed in which with chocolate smeared over his cheek and looking so professional with a whisk held in one hand. In the living room are two photos of the Schweiden Adlers and one of himself, Sawamura, Bokuto, Oikawa, and Kuroo when they went to the beach in California. There are more, filled with smiles and warmth and nostalgia. The only picture of Shiratorizawa that he has, a casual team photo at Summer Nationals of his third year, rests on the chest of drawers in the bedroom. 

His favorite photos he never printed, though. Two precious moments of intimacy he’ll always remember, the ghostly feeling of a body in his arms and short, dark brown hair tickling the underside of his jaw, haunting him more than any ancestral spirit could.

Practice is scheduled for the evening and night today. Although practices are usually in the beginning half of the day, Hirugami had told them that the coaches wanted them to have (another) team bonding dinner, this time at the intriguing American-styled place within walking distance. And before practice starts, he has plans. And the start of the plans makes him very happy:

Sawamura is visiting. 

Apparently, Sawamura had been the only one out of Bokuto, Kuroo, and Oikawa to not take an optional computer science course. Ushijima had questioned this decision because he himself has taken a programming course since in this day and age it’s important to know more than just how to use the internet and make a phone call. Over the video call, Sawamura had rolled his eyes. 

“I took a two-week binge course over the summer,” Sawamura had said with that endearing toothy grin of his, the one that spells out trouble and that there’s more to what he’s saying than meets the eyes. “And plus: those three together are  _ masters  _ at procrastinating. It’s fine for their own separate classes but for the classes, they have  _ together _ ” he had tutted “I should have left with you.”

“Maybe you should have,” Ushijima had quickly replied with, half-joke and half-wish. Sawamura had laughed. 

From what he had been able to tell, Sawamura had been kicked out of the dorms. The deadline for the trio’s project is coming up and they’d barely even started on their app, which was entirely their fault. With only a week left and no assignments in any of their other classes, the three had taken it as a sign from the gods to plan all-nighters and hours of isolation and ramen cup diets to start and finish a highly complicated project. This plan included no Sawamura because his intelligence apparently makes all of them feel less capable and lose brain cells. 

And yes, those were Sawamura’s exact words. Well, Sawamura speaking in a mocking version of Oikawa’s voice’s words. So they probably originated from the setter. 

Laughable. 

Sawamura’s end of term exams had already happened for the classes which had them. What that means is until that week is over, it’s just him and Sawamura. For a week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. All of which he chose to spend with  _ him _ rather than visiting Miyagi or living with Michimiya and maybe he’ll stay  _ more  _ than seven days because it’s the end of the term and he has a few weeks of break-

Ushijima is more than proud of the fact that his heart barely speeds up (instead only skipping a beat) at the sound of rhythmic knocks on the front door, echoing through the apartment. 

He’s at the door in an instance. Even the knob feels warm when he opens it, head immediately tilting downwards and the corners of his lips starting to pull upward. He doesn’t need to look through the peep-hole. He doesn’t need to open it just a crack. He doesn’t need to school his features and naturally look intimidating in-case it’s a salesman or someone else unwanted. 

“Anything interesting happen?” Sawamura smiles up at him, a plain black messenger back hanging from his shoulder, a suitcase help in his other hand. “You’re smiling.” They always video chat at least once a week but it’s been  _ weeks  _ since he’s seen the man in person (Ushijima’s birthday, to be specific, and only for five hours). It’s slightly shocking but also pleasant to see that Sawamura’s hair has grown just a little bit, giving it a much softer look. But there’s also something besides that which makes Sawamura seem a bit...different. Off, perhaps. He can’t quite place the source, though.

“Am I not allowed to smile?” Ushijima replies, holding the door out wider. He attempts to steal the suitcase and take it in for Sawamura but ends up pulling the man inside as well, causing him to stumble and laugh. Ushijima also lets out a huff, facial muscles relaxing and melting as he kicks the door shut as gently as he can for someone with so much leg strength.

“Not without telling me what’s causing you to smile.” Sawamura flashes a grin, regaining his balance. There’s a pimple on his temple, showing signs of being picked at with the small portion of scabbing as well as the slight discoloration around that area. 

“You,” Ushijima has the confidence to say. Two years ago he would have balked, would have kept quiet. He knows for a fact that the words come easier to him, that he doesn’t hesitate or re-think his words before saying them aloud anymore. It’s invigorating to have the confidence to say what he wants to say without internally flinching. And now that he knows that Sawamura will only ever see him in a friendly light, he can say the words he’s always wanted to say with  _ that  _ as context instead of a romantic one. Of course, words of love and wants to confess still inhabit the back of his mind, but it’s like a mindless static at this point. It’s comforting that what he feels towards Sawamura hasn’t been reduced by time or distance, that his feelings remain true and a fact. 

“I’ve missed you too, you big lug,” Sawamura wraps his arms around Ushijima, head resting on his shoulder. His arms aren’t able to wrap completely around him, hands splayed over the back of his shoulder blades. Ushijima is quick to return the gesture, pulling Sawamura just a bit closer to him so that they’re holding each other. Private physical displays of affection like this is also another thing he’s become used to. He doesn’t know how but Sawamura just always  _ knows  _ when to touch him, when to nudge him with his shoulder, when to place a hand on his arm, when to hug him: all the qualities of a friend you’ll only find once in a lifetime. 

There’s also the slight fear that Ushijima will never know  _ when  _ it’ll be the last time he’ll be able to hold Sawamura as freely as he does now. He knows that relationships can fade over time, that even the slight wind from the wing of a butterfly can cause a relationship to crumble and disappear. There’s be a day that Sawamura won’t touch him as much. That he won’t hug him more intimately than ane-armed grasp. That if fate graces Ushijima and allows him to still know Sawamura when they’re old and wrinkly and watching their own separate descendants run around, he’ll never try to lean into his touch as he does right now. 

With that, he realizes that this hug has been lasting for a bit too long. And he doesn’t know why but almost immediately, he slightly tightens his hold on Sawamura, hesitating before he starts to rub Sawamura’s back. Perhaps it’s because Sawamura is the one who always pulls away first because that’s just how they’ve always been like. It’s not like Ushijima is uncomfortable but he does feel concerned.

This feels like a scene from a soap opera, when one friend goes running to the others in the middle of a rainstorm, seeking warmth and comfort due to some sort of minuscular drama. 

“Are you,” Ushijima swallows. Sawamura looks absolutely fine, his body is relaxed and he started with a joke. There was no awkwardness between them, no uncomfortable silence, no evidence. It hasn’t even been a minute since the other step foot into his home but he can’t help but ask, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Sawamura shifts his head where it rests on his shoulder but he doesn’t move away, he doesn’t separate or take a step back. “Why would you ask that?” Ushijima feels his face burn slightly out of embarrassment. The hair on Sawamura’s head brushes his jaw. “Is it, uhh...the hug has been going on for too long?” Sawamura tries. None of them make any move to leave. In fact, Ushijima just relaxes further knowing that there’s nothing troubling the man he loves. 

The man he loves...that’s such a sweet sequence of words, a wonderful phrase. 

“I am comfortable with the hug,” Ushijima’s voice rumbles. “I was simply questioning your silence.”

“Hugs are supposed to be silent!” Sawamura exclaims. “And you’re a wonderful hugger, Ushijima. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Seemingly to emphasize that fact, the man nuzzles his cheek against Ushijima’s shoulder. “Scratch that: you’re the  _ best  _ hugger I’ve ever known.” A question suddenly gnaws at Ushijima. “Even Yui doesn’t have anything against your hugs.” Pride and a sense of accomplishment blossoms in Ushijima’s chest. 

“You shouldn’t speak negatively about your girlfriend, especially behind her back” he muses out loud. 

“You’ve hugged her too. I know she’d have agreed with me!” Sawamura teases. At long last, they pull away from each other but just because Sawamura suddenly remembers that he’s never been inside of this apartment before and that there are over dozens of square meters for him to explore. It’s not really that big, as a lot of housings are in Japan, especially in the Tokyo area, yet Sawamura looks as eager as ever. 

It’s not a long tour and Sawamura seems to also like the photos the best, just like Ushijima. He awes over the Shiratorizawa picture in his bedroom, reminding Ushijima that he doesn’t really look different than he did three years ago, his haircut remaining exactly the same, all spare fat already having been lost from his face by the time he was even in his second year of high school. The only thing that really changed was his social interactions and that he was still able to grow a few more centimeters. 

Since there’s still a while before practice starts, Ushijima helps Sawamura unpack, gives him the wifi password, and helps him get set-up in his-  _ their  _ room. 

Yes, their. As in Sawamura and himself. 

Ushijima had wanted Sawamura to sleep on his bed, but Sawamura had insisted on the couch. Being the good host he is, he had immediately eliminated that idea. He will not have Sawamura ruining his back. It was just a stroke of luck that he has a futon, slightly aged but still functional, that the two agreed on. Ushijima would take the bed and Sawamura would take the futon, which will be laid on the floor by the foot of the bed. If Ushijima notes even the smallest indication of any problems with Sawamura, then they will switch sleeping locations. It’s a wonderful arrangement. It’s not the best, though. The best would, which he regrets proposing, would have been if the two of them shared the bed like they’ve done too many times to be considered a coincidence. Perhaps he will find the right moment to suggest this sometime this week. 

In the two hours before practice, it isn’t Ushijima suggesting what to do. No, Sawamura gets changed into comfortable clothing that he somehow thinks will keep him warm in the cold (he doesn’t understand how the man isn’t cold in short-sleeves) before dragging a cozily wrapped Ushijima out of the apartment, taking his volleyball gear for him. 

Partially embarrassing how he wasn’t even able to properly wear his shoes until Sawamura finally hears his bare feet slapping against freezing pavement, it’s still worth having that much smaller hand wrapped around three of his fingers since his own hand has too large for the other to quickly grasp properly. 

Store after store they went to, trying on so many outfits and accessories since Sawamura  _ insisted  _ on modeling the fashion trends in this part of town. He doesn’t know what got into Sawamura to suddenly make him so-so…. _ cheeky _ , but it took everything he had in him to keep Sawamura from proudly trying on an intricate kimono he insisted he’d fit into and also keeping himself from allowing Sawamura to do so just to see how the silk falls over his body...and then secretly buying it as an “early birthday present”. The hilarity of everything that was happening, how much  _ fun  _ he was having, the pure joy that threatened to put a permanent manic grin on his face, was almost enough to cause him to miss the red on Sawamura’s face. He doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or also from enjoyment but Ushijima dares himself to meet Sawamura’s eyes and not pull away. 

“You’re going to get a cold,” Ushijima says with a slight frown. He decided on the cold being the cause of the blush. They didn’t have enough time to walk back to his apartment and then head to practice. He starts swiveling his head, eyes quickly scanning the racks. 

“I’ll be fine,” Sawamura insists and Ushijima mentally tutts because there are  _ goosebumps  _ on the man’s neck!

“This is what happens when you wear short-sleeves and nightwear pants.”

“Pyjama pants!?” Sawamura cringes. “Wakatoshi, these are sweatpants!”

“Did Oikawa tell you that?” 

“...” Daichi turns his head, cheeks now an even brighter red. He crosses his arms, shoulders curling inward. Ushijima chuckles. His rumbling laughter feels good against his throat, helping to clear the mysterious something that had started to lump together there. 

“Only one minute,” Ushijima reminds before quickly going to the section he had isolated as having what he needs. Once he has procured the two things he needs, quickly testing the softness and quality without looking at the price tag, he pays for the two, insisting against a bag and having the receipt thrown and the tags cut so that neither himself nor Sawamura could see what was written on there or have them returned. 

Cruel, but necessary. 

Also worth the shock, surprise, happiness, and then faux anger that quickly flitted across Sawmaura’s lovely features. His back straightened and shoulders pushed back, the glare he sends at Ushijima does nothing to hide the glimmer of interest in those warm brown orbs. 

“Put this on or else you’ll freeze.” 

Stopping himself from letting out an awed breath at the small sound Sawamura makes once his hands touch the soft material of the soft olive green sweater, Ushijima is quick to say, “don’t worry about the price: the tags are gone and I threw the receipt before I could see what it is.” He’s glad that Sawamura’s face is covered by the cloth he’s trying to wear because he’s probably glaring adorably. Ushijima quickly notes that down in his mind, another change in himself: it’s easier to describe Sawamura as if Ushijima is the pining protagonist in shojo mangas. Now that the thought’s in his head, it’s even easier to do so since he’s read many shojo mangas, too many shojo mangas. It’s a bit of a problem. 

When Sawamura’s head pops out of the neck hole, his hair is rumpled as if he just woke up from a nap. Almost immediately Ushijima notices that the sweater is a bit oversized. Not too much, but enough to make Sawamura look as if he had picked one of Ushijima’s clothes out at random and then put it on. Even though the sweater has a turtleneck, it folds into layers of cloth around his neck, the pile covering half of his neck. The sleeves reach past his hands, which Sawamura was suddenly glaring at intensely, folding the sleeves back while gently biting down on his bottom lip. His brow is scrunched and an eyebrow twitches on occasion. He looks so soft, though. Ushijima knows that many of Sawamura’s clothes are worn, the man rarely buying clothes for anything out of practicality. Money also plays into that, but both of them know that Ushijima isn’t doing this out of pity. Sure, he has more money than he’ll ever need to spend but he just  _ wants  _ to use how many yen that was on Sawamura. He deserves to have good things, to have soft things. Ushijima swears to the gods that if-  _ when  _ Michimiya and Sawamura get married, he will give those two splendid presents and then spoil the kids rotten when they come. 

Ushijima then raises the scarf, softly smiling at Sawamura as he wraps the white scarf around the stunned man’s neck, muscled fingers somehow able to gently maneuver the cloth into place. Conveniently, it’s also then that he remembers that Sawamura had called him Wakatoshi just a few minutes prior 

And

He

Hadn’t

_ Noticed _

“Warm?” Ushijima chooses to say instead, hands resting on Sawamura’s shoulders as he double-checks to see that he wrapped the scarf correctly. The too-long ends reached Sawamura’s wait but even then, the amount that loosely sits on his shoulders and around necks enough times that Sawamura is currently able to hide the lower half of his face in the embrace of the warm what Ushijima thinks is cashmere. He’s even more proud of himself for having the cashier cut the tag off. 

Sawamura answers by leaning forward and resting his forehead against Ushijima’s chest. Neither of them says a word. Worry suddenly fills Ushijima’s veins. Mirroring what they did a few hours ago, Ushijima moves his hands from Sawamura’s shoulders to his back, the other compliant and quick to rest his head on Ushijima’s shoulders. 

“Th-thank you,” Sawamura softly manages, voice strangely hoarse for such a simple gesture. Ushijima’s nose and eyes prickle. He doesn’t hesitate to put a hand on the back of Daichi’s head, closing his eyes and settling on simply existing. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know why but for some reason, something has caused Daichi not to be angry or anything but more upset. A sort of upset which is more on the sad end of the spectrum. He’ll ask after practice. He doubts that any of  _ this  _ will be lingering by then because he knows what will make Daichi happy. 

“I,” Ushijima starts, stopping the movements of his fingers through Daichi’s hair so that his hand could rub his back instead. It’s so tempting to do  _ more  _ and it aches. It hurts. He can’t ask Daichi  _ now  _ what’s going on, what’s wrong, how he can help. He can’t hold him even closer. He can’t rest his chin over Daichi’s head, he can’t brush his hair back and kiss his forehead and wipe any tears that might be there. Oh gods, Daichi  _ crying _ . He can’t imagine that but he’s sure that he would be capable of severely injuring whoever is the cause of that pain and tears. “I have yet to inform my team, including Kageyama-kun, of your arrival. Seeing as you will be sitting in on practice, he will probably be very energetic today.”

Mentioning his former kouhai is all it takes to put confidence and a drive back into Daichi. He doesn’t pull out of the hug but he lifts his head up from its resting spot, looking up at Ushijima with wet eyes. There were tears, but they refuse to fall. 

“Daichi,” Ushijima whispers. All he feels is concern. He can think later about the feel of his name on his tongue, the first time he said it out loud, completely aware, to Daichi. “Speak later.” Daichi smiles crooked and weak but still so effective in melting Ushijima’s heart and questioning his entire existence as anything other than a devotee to Sawamura Daichi’s entire existence. Ushijima knows that there’s no hiding the love he feels, that the affection in his eyes, on his face, it  _ must  _ be so obvious that if anyone in the store were to look at him they would immediately feel pity for him because even they know that he’ll never be good enough for the god reincarnate that stands before him with crystals in his eyes. 

“You know,” Daichi says, introducing a completely new and shocking topic, “I’ve never gotten drunk before. Or had alcohol. I’m really hoping wherever we’re going with your team serves at least  _ sake _ .” There’s a strange sort of exhaustion in Daichi’s eyes, one that he’s never seen before. 

“You turn twenty in two weeks. You can’t-”

“Neither of us is driving and you can order for me. I…” Daichi pulls away and Ushijima suddenly feels cold. The other man hides his face in the scarf, hands stuffing themselves into the pockets of the sweater. Ushijima can feel panic bubbling in his throat. Today had been so  _ good _ . They were smiling and laughing only minutes ago and if only Ushijima hadn’t insisted that Daichi stay put so Ushijima can get him clothes he never asked for to warm him up-

“I can’t talk what I want to if I sober,” Daichi interrupts Ushijima’s train of thought, sending it to a halt like a ball smoothly being served into the net. He’s still looking at him. Of course he is. “There’s a lot I need to talk about, Wakatoshi,” his voice cracks. “It’s not just a friendly visit, I’m sorry,” his voice softens near the end. “It’s nothing bad though, so don’t stress yourself! It’s not your fault, I just,” he looks at the ground, biting his lower lip, “I trust you. I feel like only you would understand and I think that’s one of the reasons the rest of them forced me to stay for more than just the weekend.” His gaze meets Ushijima’s, shining with hope. “Is that….is that alright? ...Wakatoshi?”

He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want Daichi to hurt himself like that. But he’s a weak man when it comes to Daichi, and it seems like the other unconsciously knows how to use his given name to his advantage. 

“I”  _ love you _ “care for you a lot, Sawamura,”  _ it looks like you’re hurting  _ “You’re my friend” _ I want you to hurt less, so I need to stop myself from being someone who can hurt you  _ “If you think that is what you need, then I won’t argue”  _ you can tell me to jump and I’ll ask how high, you can tell me what you’ll ever want and I’ll give you the world _ “We should go now: you’ll probably want to talk to Kageyama-kun for a bit.”  _ Take my hand, accept my help.  _

“When did I ever think of you as anything other than a big softie?” Sawamura teases, voice no longer cracking. He wraps his arms around Ushijima’s and hugs the limb. “But thank you. I definitely owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” Ushijima replies. 

* * *

Just as he had predicted, meeting Kageyama in person first time in two years was immensely helpful in lifting the man’s mood. This was probably further increased by the extended amount of time for which Kageyama remained, hugging the other man. It was amusing to watch since Kageyama has also grown taller and thus also towers over his senpai, unable to pull away due to the softness of the sweater and scarf. 

“So  _ that’s  _ the fabled Sawamura-san,” Hirugami muses as the rest of the team casually introduces them. Ushijima doesn’t flinch only because he is not the sort of person to flinch but he is startled by his captain’s sudden appearance. He could have sworn that the man had been on the other side of the court, finishing checking that the net was set up correctly…

“I don’t believe I’ve mentioned him,” Ushijima mutters. Hirugami subtly raises an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps once or twice…” his voice trails off. Hirugami smirks and gives a quick nod of agreement. 

“You underestimate your own and Teikoku’s popularity.” Sawamura has managed to pull away from Kageyama, who now stands probably only a centimeter away from Sawamura, right behind his shoulder. The rest of the team is converging on him and Hoshiumi is squawking in his attempts to get close to the scarf while the rest of his team chats. “It wasn’t just you who left an impression on us but also the rest of your team. Specifically, that ambidextrous wonder who managed to make the stoic wonder child break character.” 

He carefully nudges Ushijima’s side, well aware that even though he has grown better adjusted to physical contact, he’s still easy to startle and be made uncomfortable. Ushijima begins to wonder if his captain is possible even more enveloped by the world of volleyball than he is somehow. Ushijima only watches college matches (besides Teikoku’s) when there’s nothing else to do but it seems as if his captain breaths and lives for volleyball, which had become more obvious by the childish volleyball boxers he freely modeled in the locker rooms and baths. 

“He’ll be joining us for dinner?” Hirugami says it more as a statement than a question. There’s no judgment in his voice and they both watch as Sawamura is forcibly dragged by their libero, a middle blocker, with Kageyama pushing him, in the direction of the ball cart. Sawamura looks over his shoulder and all Ushijima can hear over the surprising amount of noise made by ten grown men plus an amused coach and athletic trainer is his name and the faint echo of his heartbeat. “Oh!” Hirugami claps his hands together. “That reminds me,” he grabs Ushijima’s shoulders and lightly shakes him, gaze intense and unwavering. “ _ You. Still. Have. A. Chance.”  _ He says in time with each shake. “Yes, you gave me the details already but...I can see that he’s a good man. Have patience-”

“I’m already being patient,” Ushijima points out. “That is necessary for any successful friendship.”

“Yes, I know that, but” the captain sighs tiredly, eyes closing for a moment. When he opens them, the captain looks more determined. He opens his mouth and he doesn’t even get the chance to talk when one of the players calls out to him. 

“HEY! Hirugami! Ushijima! We’re gonna see if anyone can serve and hit the other wall without bouncing. Wanna join us? Sawamura-san says he will if you will!”

“I never-” Sawamura gets to start before Hirugami interrupts him with a call of “Sure!” and drops his hands from Ushijima’s shoulders. 

He wonders what Hirugami was going to say. That thought and memory are washed away, though, by the events that follow that night. It was all very exhilarating, causing the minutes to blur together and his feelings to condense into joy and happiness. Kageyama and Hoshiumi paired up at the bar-restaurant through their shared inability to consume alcohol. Sawamura should have been with them too but even though he is well aware that he is breaking numerous laws at the moment when the server asks to see their IDs, Ushijima holds his out so that he can count the number of people who can drink and then slides all the drinks he gets to Sawamura. 

In all honesty, it’s fun. Ushijima isn’t fond of alcohol so he orders apple juice to go with his hamburger steak. And yes, the rest of his team made fun of him, Kageyama included even though he himself ordered milk. 

Sawamura drinks the alcohol with a straight face, only the slightest of grimaces marring his face during the first glass. But after that, as brands and types change depending on the older members’ recommendations, his cheeks gain a temporarily permanent flush and he also becomes much more clingy. 

Ushijima doesn’t know how to feel about Sawamura getting illegally drunk before Ushijima could ever drink enough alcohol to warp his thoughts and actions. Sawamura has a pork dish and at some point, someone had to get him a fork due to his ability to use chopsticks being majorly affected. It was also at that point that Sawamura somehow managed to snuggle himself under Ushijima’s arm, one hand gripping Ushijima’s arm so that he can’t pull away. And in that position, he eats and drinks and laughs and talks. 

It seems like Sawamura’s inebriation forced Ushijima’s mind to have more clarity because all of a sudden, he is suddenly aware of what this looks like, how Sawamura’s actions from the entire night look like from an outside perspective, even if they were to know that Sawamura has a girlfriend:

There is no way that these actions are entirely platonic, even if Sawamura somehow sees it like that. And no matter how much Ushijima wants to deny that thought, to induce an amnesic state of sorts upon himself to stop himself from rethinking for the hundredth time in his life about Sawamura’s actions over the past few years...It is undeniable that at the moment, the younger man is very much sending many mixed signals. It doesn’t help Ushijima that Sawamura calls him  _ Waka  _ or  _ Toshi  _ due to being unable to say all of the syllables of his name without slurring, voice sounding warm and breathy. 

And for the first time in a very long time, Ushijima feels frustrated. Upset. Angry. 

Why  _ is  _ Sawamura here?

Why did Sawamura insist on becoming drunk?

Why does Sawamura curl up against Ushijima as if he is the one he’s in a romantic relationship with?

Why doesn’t Sawamura love him?

What is actually going on?

“I think we’ll be going now,” Ushijima says, proud that he’s able to stand while slipping his arm out of Sawamura’s hold, causing the other man to emit a small  adorable  keen. 

“I can see that,” Heiwajima, the libero, muses. 

“Feel free to skip practice tomorrow,” Hirugami suggests, a proud look on his face. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full taking care of your friend.” Ushijima shakes his head. He doesn’t know why that suddenly makes his stomach churn. He slides out of the booth, pulling a compliant Sawamura out afterward. His eyes are wide and his brow twitches once, but there’s a carefree smile on his face and he’s quick to once again pull Ushijima’s arm around him, face once again comfortably snuggled in the confines of the scarf that somehow remains stain free. Ushijima goes and pays for his tab, tugging Sawamura along with him. Any other time he would have savored the feel of his friend beside him, the warmth he admits, and the feeling of just having him with him would have gone over every moment Sawamura said  _ Toshi _ . Any other time…… 

His mind is in turmoil, too many thoughts tumbling about and forming theories in his head. The night is cold and the chill helps calm his thoughts. The only reason he lowers his grip on Sawamura to his torso, he tells himself, is so that he can better keep Sawamura stable for the fifteen-minute walk back to his apartment. 

“Sawamura,” he jostles the man slightly when they approach the foot of the building. “Remember to stay awake: you said you would talk to me.” Sawamura nods against his arm.

“Yup!” The man exclaims in English. “You’re such a good friend Toshi.” Ushijima leads him inside the building. It’s late, probably past midnight. There’s no one in the courtyard-esque area as they walk to the elevators. Metal doors slide open, closing a few moments after Ushijima clicks the button for his floor. “I have lots to tell and I really trust you~”

Ushijima nods in acknowledgment. Before long, the two of them are in Ushijima’s apartment. Sawamura manages to stumble to the couch and remain sitting up while Ushijima grabs a glass of water for him. He doesn’t drink it, eyes continuing to look a bit dilated and too reflective. He considers sitting not on the same couch as Sawamura but he knows that in this state, Sawamura would probably end up following him until they’re sitting together. So he sits next to Sawamura and after a bit of thought, wraps an arm around the shorter man who quickly melts onto his hold. 

He doesn’t push Sawamura to start talking. It’s late, they’re both tired, and he very much wants to sleep but he has priorities. But Ushijima can’t help his suddenly short temper. He wants to give Sawamura time, he doesn’t want to pressure him. He wants Sawamura to trust him, not to feel pressured or anything. Yet…

“Sawamura,” Ushijima sighs. The irritation shows through the lowered tone. “You were going to tell me-”

“Not yet,” Sawamura whines, moving closer. His foot turns and tangles with Ushijima’s and just like that, all of his pent up emotions come to life. Even though he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol, even though he had a wonderful day-

Ushijima tears himself away from Sawamura, standing so that he towers over the other man. Sawamura looks up at him, shock obvious on his face. He feels the anger and pain coursing through his veins, the urge in his mind to just beg, to  _ plea _ , what is Sawamura doing? Why is he doing this? But years of being himself as well as his upbringing instead automatically smoothens his expression into the one he wears on the court when he’s up to serve in an intense match, eyes narrowed and sharp. Sawamura pushes himself as far as he can into the couch, hands gripping the seat on either side of him and shoulders tense. 

They stare at each other, Ushijima’s breaths are small and silent. He’s aware of his emotions, of everything around him, of the weight of just his phone in his pants. Slowly, his fingers curl inward, pressure suddenly being put on his knuckles as his hands form tight fists. There’s no logical reason as to why he should be this angry or whatever it is that he’s feeling. He’s never been good with emotions and very rarely has he felt a significant amount of them. Nothing has ever prepared him for what he feels right now. 

He sees himself reflected in Sawamura’s eyes, giving himself the form of a looming, shadowy figure with burning blackhole eye. That would have been enough to make him stop, to force himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. 

But not today. 

He misses when clarity enters Sawamura’s eyes when even alcohol can’t keep the indomitable man from keeping his thoughts sharp and true as he senses the change in the air between the two. There’s no turning back now. 

“Why,” he says, eyes unblinking and hard. The area where the top of his eyes curves under the socket ache from the intensity. “Why do you do this? Why do you care so much? Why do you act like this when you always  _ leave  _ in the end!?” He isn’t aware of how much his voice has uncharacteristically increased, that his shoulders are so tense and grip so tight that his arms are trembling. 

“Wh-what?” Sawamura barely manages to say. The word is so delicate, like a snowflake. So thin, so fragile. Just a bit of heat, just a bit of pressure, and it’ll crack. It’ll melt. It’ll disappear from existence. 

Ushijima  _ crushes  _ it. 

“You don’t treat me like you do anyone else,” Ushijima growls, widening his stance. “You came to  _ me  _ instead of anyone else yet you won’t even talk to me about why you came here in the first place.” He leans forward and places his hands on the top of the couch on either side of Sawamura, casting a shadow on the man. Ushijima can still see himself in his eyes. His own burn. Rarely has he ever felt this alive outside of a game. The fire that burns inside of him guides him. “Do you really not know what you’ve been doing for the past three years?” His teeth grit. 

“What?” Sawamura repeats. He looks so small. Ushijima lets out a humorless chuckle that only succeeds in making himself feeling even stranger. 

“I’ve tried ignoring it, oh I have. I’ve accepted it.” His voice is hoarse even though he hasn’t risen it yet. “I’ve gone against everything Bokuto suggested I do to follow those unnecessary feelings.” His left-hand leaves the back of the couch and grips the scarf he bought Sawamura, the cloth rough in his hand, pulling Sawamura just a bit forward. “Even though we’re friends, I am far past the point where you are just a friend to me.”

He doesn’t place a hand on the side of Sawamura’s face.

He doesn’t sit next to him and cradle him. 

He doesn’t pull back and apologize. 

He doesn’t enjoy it. 

It’s rough and devoid of gentleness. He thinks he’s cut or bruised the inside of his lip and probably done the same for Sawamura. He tilts his head so their noses don’t crash into each other. It’s intense and hard, his grip on the back of the couch tightening. He keeps his eyes open. Sawamura’s are closed for the first second or two but they’re open now, gaze wide and unwavering. 

Horror floods his veins and Ushijima pulls away, grip on the scarf releasing. His lips are warming, nerve endings burning from every spot that they touched Sawamura’s. He rushes backward too quickly, the back of his calves crashing into the coffee table. He’s quick to stand again and Sawamura looks like he’s in shock, mouth now red. 

“You’re crying.” 

_ Daichi _ . . .

Even after what he did, Sawamura cares about others more than himself. And Ushijima knows he’s been crying, he was crying even during that kiss, his first kiss. His entire being suddenly freezes and bit by bit, numbness crawls over his mind. 

“Don’t follow me,” he manages. “You’re drunk and don’t know the area.” It takes less than ten seconds but Ushijima grabs a coat and a pair of slippers from the closet and he’s gone, quickly closing the door behind him with a click. 

Daichi stares at the door that Ushijima just left through. He raises a hand to his lips. He can feel the alcohol in his stomach but not in his mind. He messed up the plan. It all went wrong. And now...he just lost his best friend. And he doesn’t know what to do. So he just goes to the bedroom and collapses on the bed, keeping his eyes open as he takes in the lingering smell of Wakatoshi’s shampoo, body wash, and fabric softener. 

When he wakes up in the morning, stomach-turning and head aching slightly, Wakatoshi isn’t back yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> USHIJIMA. FUCKING. WAKATOSHI. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL ARE YOU DOING??????????  
> Anyway, I am also proud to note that for once I only used ONE page break, leading to a smooth sequencing of events and emotions and, most importantly, angst.
> 
> Now, this isn't the ned of the slow burn, no no no my dear readers. This isn't even a burn, it's just a flat out _explosion_ that we can only hope our boys can recover from. 
> 
> Also, what are your guy's theories on Sawamura? What's he going to do now that he hopefully is aware of Ushijima's true feelings for him? I have a bunch of tells in this chapter so if you're bored, go ahead and read through and analylize the descriptions and thoughts again and comment on what you think...if you want....

**Author's Note:**

> Join my server:  
> https://discord.gg/sFqmZ9G


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